The Beast Within - Emile Zola [203]
‘Why have you gone to bed?’ he asked.
‘It’s better this way,’ she answered. ‘I’m sure it is. I had an idea. You see, when he arrives and I go down to let him in dressed like this, he’ll be less suspicious. I’ll tell him I had a migraine. Misard already thinks I’m not feeling well. Then, when they find him on the railway line, I’ll be able to say I never left this room.’1
But Jacques was shaking.
‘No,’ he shouted angrily, ‘get dressed. You’ve got to be ready to help me. You can’t stay like that.’
She was surprised at his reaction.
‘Why not, darling?’ she said, beginning to smile. ‘You don’t need to worry. I’m not cold, I promise you ... Feel me ... See how warm I am!’
She moved towards him, invitingly, placing her bare arms around him. Her nightdress had slipped down over one shoulder, revealing her round breasts. Jacques drew away from her. He was becoming increasingly agitated.
‘Don’t be angry,’ she pleaded. ‘I’ll cuddle up in bed, and then you won’t be frightened I’ll catch cold.’
Once she was back in bed with the sheet pulled up round her chin, Jacques seemed to grow a little calmer. Séverine talked happily about the various plans that had been running through her head.
‘As soon as he knocks, I go down and open the door. At first I thought I could just leave him to come up here, where you would be waiting for him. But if we had to get him back downstairs, it would be more difficult. Besides, there’s a parquet floor in this room, whereas the hall downstairs has tiles, which would make it easier to clean if there are splashes of blood ... While I was getting undressed, just before you arrived, I remembered a novel in which a murderer takes his clothes off in order to kill someone. You wash yourself afterwards, and there isn’t a stain on your clothes ... It makes sense, don’t you see ... Why don’t you take your clothes off? Why don’t we both get undressed?’
He looked at her, terrified. But she looked as sweet and innocent as a little girl. She was simply concerned that everything went according to plan and that it was a success. She had been thinking about it carefully. But Jacques was horrified at the thought of them both naked and splashed with blood. Once more he felt the stirrings of his fearful malady.
‘No!’ he protested. ‘It’s barbaric! You’ll be suggesting we eat his heart next! How you must hate him!’
Séverine’s face suddenly darkened. Jacques’s outburst had transported her from her carefully planned preparations to the horror of the deed. Her eyes filled with tears.
‘I’ve had too much to put up with these last few months,’ she wept. ‘How can I have any love for him? I’ve said it a hundred times: I’d do anything rather than stay with him another week. But you’re right. It’s awful that it should come to this. It shows how desperately we both want to be happy ... Anyway, we’ll go downstairs in the dark. You stand behind the door. When I’ve opened it and he’s inside, you do as you choose ... My only part in this is to help you, so that you don’t have to do everything yourself. This is the best I can think of.’
Jacques had stopped in front of the table, his attention drawn to the knife, the weapon that Roubaud himself had already used to kill Grandmorin, and which Séverine had obviously put there for him to use now. It was open and the blade gleamed in the light of the lamp. He picked it up and examined it. Séverine looked at it too, saying nothing. Now that he was actually holding it, there was no point in mentioning it to him. Only when he replaced it on the table did she speak.
‘Darling,’ she said, ‘I’m not forcing you to do it. If you can’t face it, you still have time to go.’
Jacques clenched