nd what he had done. He replied, in
faltering tones, that he had had for a moment a fit of abstraction, or
rather a return to the days of his childhood, that he imagined he had to
pass his time under a tree, just as street-boys rush in front of
vehicles driving rapidly past, that he had played at danger, that, for
the past eight days, he felt this desire growing stronger within him,
asking himself whether, every time one was cracking, so as to be on the
point of falling, he could pass beneath it without being touched. It was
a piece of stupidity he confessed; but everyone has these moments of
insanity, and these temptations towards boyish folly.

He made this explanation in a slow tone, searching for his words, and
speaking in a stupefied fashion.

Then, he went off, saying:

"Till to-morrow, my friends--till to-morrow."

As soon as he had got back to his room, he sat down before his table,
which his lamp, covered with a shade, lighted up brightly, and, clasping
his hands over his forehead, he began to cry.

He remained crying for a long time, then wiped his eyes, raised his
head, and looked at the clock. It was not yet six o'clock.

He thought:

"I have time before dinner."

And he went to the door and locked it. He then came back, and sat down
before his table. He pulled out a drawer in the middle of it, and taking
from it a revolver, laid it down over his papers, under the glare of the
sun. The barrel of the fire-arm glittered and cast reflections which
resembled flames.

Renardet gazed at it for some time with the uneasy glance of a drunken
man; then he rose by, and began to pace up and down the room.

He walked from one end of the apartment to the other, and stopped from
time to time, and started to pace up and down again a moment afterwards.
Suddenly, he opened the door of his dressing room, steeped a napkin in a
water-jug and moistened his forehead, as he had done on the morning of
the crime.

Then he went walking up and down once more. Each time he passed the
table the gleaming revolver attracted his glance, tempted his hand; but
he kept watching the clock, and reflected:

"I have still time."

It struck half-past six. Then he took up the revolver, opened his mouth
wide with a frightful grimace, and stuck the barrel into it, as if he
wanted to swallow it. He remained in this position for some seconds
without moving, his finger on the lock, then, suddenly, seized with a
shudder of horror, he drop