passion, in a sort of tempest of the
senses that had overpowered his reason. And he had cherished in his
heart, in his flesh, on his lips, even to the very tips of his murderous
fingers a kind of bestial love, as well as a feeling of terrified
horror, toward this little girl surprised by him and basely killed.
Every moment his thoughts returned to that horrible scene, and, though
he endeavored to drive this picture from his mind, though he put it
aside with terror, with disgust, he felt it surging through his soul,
moving about in him, waiting incessantly for the moment to reappear.

Then, as evening approached, he was afraid of the shadow falling around
him. He did not yet know why the darkness seemed frightful to him, but
he instinctively feared it, he felt that it was peopled with terrors.
The bright daylight did not lend itself to fears. Things and beings
were visible then, and only natural things and beings could exhibit
themselves in the light of day. But the night, the impenetrable night,
thicker than walls and empty; the infinite night, so black, so vast,
in which one might brush against frightful things; the night, when one
feels that a mysterious terror is wandering, prowling about, appeared to
him to conceal an unknown threatening danger, close beside him.

What was it?

He knew ere long. As he sat in his armchair, rather late one evening
when he could not sleep, he thought he saw the curtain of his window
move. He waited, uneasily, with beating heart. The drapery did not stir;
then, all of a sudden, it moved once more. He did not venture to rise;
he no longer ventured to breathe, and yet he was brave. He had often
fought, and he would have liked to catch thieves in his house.

Was it true that this curtain did move? he asked himself, fearing that
his eyes had deceived him. It was, moreover, such a slight thing, a
gentle flutter of drapery, a kind of trembling in its folds, less than
an undulation caused by the wind.

Renardet sat still, with staring eyes and outstretched neck. He sprang
to his feet abruptly, ashamed of his fear, took four steps, seized
the drapery with both hands and pulled it wide apart. At first he saw
nothing but darkened glass, resembling plates of glittering ink. The
night, the vast, impenetrable night, stretched beyond as far as the
invisible horizon. He remained standing in front of this illimitable
shadow, and suddenly he perceived a light, a moving light, which seemed
some dis