happiness. I woke up, however,
intensely awake, and in perfect possession of all my faculties, while it
was yet dark; and at once got up and began to dress. The moment of
hesitation which generally follows waking--the little interval of
thought in which one turns over perhaps that which is past, perhaps that
which is to come--found no place within me. I got up without a moment's
pause, like one who has been called to go on a journey; nor did it
surprise me at all to see my wife moving about, taking a cloak from her
wardrobe, and putting up linen in a bag. She was already fully dressed;
but she asked no questions of me any more than I did of her. We were in
haste, though we said nothing. When I had dressed, I looked round me to
see if I had forgotten anything, as one does when one leaves a place. I
saw my watch suspended to its usual hook, and my pocketbook, which I had
taken from my pocket on the previous night. I took up also the light
overcoat which I had worn when I made my rounds through the city on the
first night of the darkness. 'Now,' I said, 'Agnes, I am ready.' I did
not speak to her of where we were going, nor she to me. Little Jean and
my mother met us at the door. Nor did _she_ say anything, contrary to
her custom; and the child was quite quiet. We went downstairs together
without saying a word. The servants, who were all astir, followed us. I
cannot give any description of the feelings that were in my mind. I had
not any feelings. I was only hurried out, hastened by something which I
could not define--a sense that I must go; and perhaps I was too much
astonished to do anything but yield. It seemed, however, to be no force
or fear that was moving me, but a desire of my own; though I could not
tell how it was, or why I should be so anxious to get away. All the
servants, trooping after me, had the same look in their faces; they were
anxious to be gone--it seemed their business to go--there was no
question, no consultation. And when we came out into the street, we
encountered a stream of processions similar to our own. The children
went quite steadily by the side of their parents. Little Jean, for
example, on an ordinary occasion would have broken away--would have run
to his comrades of the Bois-Sombre family, and they to him. But no; the
little ones, like ourselves, walked along quite gravely. They asked no
questions, neither did we ask any questions of each other, as, 'Where
are you going?' or, 'What is the m