ting
like a madman. Without even closing the door which had been opened, she
darted off, bent on following him. In the Rue Lepic she drew near; but
for fear of exciting him still more she contented herself with keeping
him in sight, walking some thirty yards in the rear, without his knowing
that she was behind him. On reaching the end of the Rue Lepic he went
down the Rue Blanche again, and then proceeded by way of the Rue de
la Chaussee-d'Antin and the Rue du Dix Decembre as far as the Rue de
Richelieu. When she saw him turn into the last-named thoroughfare, a
mortal chill came over her: he was going towards the Seine; it was the
realisation of the frightful fear which kept her of a night awake, full
of anguish! And what could she do, good Lord? Go with him, hang upon his
neck over yonder? She was now only able to stagger along, and as each
step brought them nearer to the river, she felt life ebbing from her
limbs. Yes, he was going straight there; he crossed the Place du
Theatre Francais, then the Carrousel, and finally reached the Pont des
Saints-Peres. After taking a few steps along the bridge, he approached
the railing overlooking the water; and at the thought that he was about
to jump over, a loud cry was stifled in her contracted throat.

But no; he remained motionless. Was it then only the Cite over yonder
that haunted him, that heart of Paris which pursued him everywhere,
which he conjured up with his fixed eyes, even through walls, and which,
when he was leagues away, cried out the constant summons heard by him
alone? She did not yet dare to hope it; she had stopped short, in the
rear, watching him with giddy anxiety, ever fancying that she saw him
take the terrible leap, but resisting her longing to draw nearer, for
fear lest she might precipitate the catastrophe by showing herself.
Oh, God! to think that she was there with her devouring passion, her
bleeding motherly heart--that she was there beholding everything,
without daring to risk one movement to hold him back!

He stood erect, looking very tall, quite motionless, and gazing into the
night.

It was a winter's night, with a misty sky of sooty blackness, and was
rendered extremely cold by a sharp wind blowing from the west. Paris,
lighted up, had gone to sleep, showing no signs of life save such as
attached to the gas-jets, those specks which scintillated and grew
smaller and smaller in the distance till they seemed but so much starry
dust. The quays