he wall in the
corner of the farm-house, and when he had thrown into it the paper which
made his hand tremble, he came back quickly, shut the bolts of the great
door, and climbed up to his tower to wait for the passing of the
postman, who would convey his death sentence.

He felt self-possessed, now. Liberated! Saved!

A cold dry wind, an icy wind, passed across his face. He inhaled it
eagerly, with open mouth, drinking in its chilling kiss. The sky was
red, with a burning red, the red of winter, and all the plain whitened
with frost glistened under the first rays of the sun, as if it had been
powdered with bruised glass.

Renardet, standing up, with his head bare, gazed at the vast tract of
country before him, the meadow to the left, and to the right the village
whose chimneys were beginning to smoke with the preparations for the
morning meal. At his feet he saw the Brindelle flowing towards the
rocks, where he would soon be crushed to death. He felt himself reborn
on that beautiful frosty morning, full of strength, full of life. The
light bathed him, penetrated him like a new-born hope. A thousand
recollections assailed him, recollections of similar mornings, of rapid
walks on the hard earth which rang under his footsteps, of happy chases
on the edges of pools where wild ducks sleep. All the good things that
he loved, the good things of existence rushed into memory, penetrated
him with fresh desires, awakened all the vigorous appetites of his
active, powerful body.

And he was about to die? Why? He was going to kill himself stupidly,
because he was afraid of a shadow--afraid of nothing? He was still rich
and in the prime of life! What folly! But all he wanted was distraction,
absence, a voyage in order to forget.

This night even he had not seen the little girl because his mind was
preoccupied, and so had wandered towards some other subject. Perhaps he
would not see her any more? And even if she still haunted him in this
house, certainly she would not follow him elsewhere! The earth was wide,
the future was long.

Why die?

His glance traveled across the meadows, and he perceived a blue spot in
the path which wound alongside the Brindelle. It was Mederic coming to
bring letters from the town and to carry away those of the village.

Renardet got a start, a sensation of pain shot through his breast, and
he rushed towards the winding staircase to get back his letter, to
demand it back from the postman. Little d