Smiling, I moved forward to meet the future, exalted by the affection of an honorable man, purified by the love of two innocent children.
And I said in my heart: “Fate is pitiful and God has shown mercy. He has suspended His judgment and has allowed me one last chance. I shall not be found wanting; I shall be worthy of His clemency.”
Then lo! at a turning in my pathway, the forgotten avengers stand before me; my sins, like spectral furies, have found me out!
We were finishing dinner on the terrace of the Bellevue at Hyères, my betrothed and I. The children had said good night, had kissed and embraced us and run off, chattering and twittering with Elise, to their rooms. Kamarowsky had just lit a cigarette, and was leaning over to me with a word of tenderness, when I perceived immediately behind him at a neighboring table—a face, a grinning, fiendish face.
My heart bounded. It was the Scorpion!
Why was it that name that first rushed to my mind? Why was my primitive sense of fear and repulsion renewed at the sight of him?
Ah, that man staring and grimacing at me over Kamarowsky's shoulder was not the friend, the lover, the knight of the heroic Saga whom I had known and trusted in my days of desolation; no, he was the terrifying and truculent monster of the octopus story; he was the Scorpion who years ago had filled my soul with dread.
When had he come? How long had he been sitting at that table, watching my garrulous gladness, my timorous, reawakened happiness?