“Yes; I hope I shall sleep well.”
But still she didn’t go. He rose with difficulty from his arm-chair, raised his hand to the top button of his waistcoat and said tentatively:
Madame Carola understood Fleurissoire’s embarrassment.
“You’d like me to leave you for a bit, I see,” said she tactfully.
As soon as she had gone, Fleurissoire turned the key in the lock, took his night-shirt out of his portmanteau and got into bed. But apparently the catch of the lock was not working, for before he had time to blow out his candle, Carola’s head reappeared in the half-opened door—behind the bed—close to the bed—smiling....
An hour later, when he came to himself, Carola was lying against him, in his arms, naked.
He disengaged his left arm, which had “fallen asleep,” and then drew away. She was asleep. A light from the alley below filled the room with its feeble glimmer, and not a sound was to be heard but the woman’s regular breathing. An unwonted languor lay heavy on Amédée’s body and soul; he drew out his thin legs from between the sheets; and sitting on the edge of the bed, he wept.
As first his sweat, so now his tears washed his face and mingled with the dust of the railway carriage; they welled up—silently, uninterruptedly, in a slow and steady stream, coming from his inmost depths, as from a hidden spring. He thought of Arnica, of Blafaphas, alas! Ah! if they could see him now! Never again would he dare to take his place beside them. Then he thought of his august mission, for ever compromised; he groaned below his breath:
“It’s over! I’m no longer worthy! Oh! it’s over! It’s all over!”