ged to hasten to her father, to assert her innocence--when suddenly
the manuscript was found under some old books; Clarissa breathed again
as if saved from peril of death, and never before had she been as
witty, talkative, and captivatingly lovable as in the hours that
followed.

When in the imagination of the multitude the lady with the green
feathers grew steadily more distinct, along with the other figures
implicated in the brutal slaughter of poor Fualdes, Clarissa was thrown
into a consternation with which she only trifled at first, as if to
test herself in a probability or balance herself upon a possibility,
like a lad who with a pleasing shudder ventures upon the frozen surface
of a stream to test its firmness. She devoured the reports in the
newspapers. The timorous dallying grew into a haunting idea, chiefly
owing to the fact that she really was the possessor of a hat with green
feathers. That circumstance could not be regarded as remarkable.
Fashion permitted the use of green, yellow, or red feathers;
nevertheless, the possession of the hat became a torment to Clarissa.
She dared no longer touch it; it seemed to her as if the feathers were
enveloped in a bloody lustre, and she finally hid it in a lumber-room
under the roof. She busied herself with plans of travel, and meant to
visit Paris; but her resolution grew more shaky every day. Meanwhile
June set in. A traveling theatrical company gave a number of
performances in Rodez, and an officer by the name of Clemendot, who had
long been pursuing Clarissa with declarations of love, but who had
always, on account of his commonplaceness and evident crudity, been
coolly, nay, at times ignominiously repulsed, brought her a ticket and
invited her to accompany him to the theatre. She declined, but at the
last moment she felt a desire to go, and had to suffer Captain
Clemendot's taking the vacant seat to her right, after the rise of the
curtain.

The troupe presented a melodrama, whose action dragged out at great
length and with great gusto the misfortune and gruesome murder of an
innocent youth. At the close of the last act a woman disguised as a man
appeared upon the scene; she wore a pointed round hat, and a mask
covered her face. A hurried love-scene, carried on in whispers, by the
light of the dismal lamp of a criminal quarter, with the chief of the
band of murderers, sealed the fate of the unhappy victim, who was
kneeling in prayer. In the house an eager silence