She picked up her lantern and took a step towards the door.
“I will tell you one thing more, Monsieur,” she added, pausing, “that you may guess what my life has been. The drink which I will give you is one that I have kept by me for fifteen years. I preferred that death to the wheel—yes, a thousand times. But I shall no longer have need of it, Monsieur, so I give it to you. You see that I am generous.”
She laughed again, and in a moment the door swung shut behind her and I was left alone in the darkness.
CHAPTER XII
A CHILD OF THE NIGHT
I sat for a long time, dazed and desperate, my head in my hands, my heart cold within me. It seemed that the last shred of my courage had been stripped from me. I was never again to see the trees nor the blue sky, or bare my head to the good sunshine. I was never again to lie in the grass and gaze up, up, through the heavens at the bright stars. I was never again to feel on my face the sweet breath of the south wind. I thought of the deep, placid Midouze, of the wide fields, of the dark forest, with the wild-flowers nestling in its depths. I thought of my mother, of my sister, of Nanette—I was never again to see Nanette—to hold her hand—to gaze into her eyes—she was to become prey to a monstrous appetite—ah, Christ!—my very soul trembled within me. She had called me—in terror and despair, she had called me—and I had not come! Instead, I had rushed headlong into this trap. I had played the fool! If I, alone, were to suffer I might endure it, but that she should suffer too——
But the mood passed, the throbbing in my brain subsided, stark fear hid its face. I shook myself together. After all, I was not yet dead, and so might yet escape. Still, the more I pondered the situation, the more remote did any chance of escape appear. I saw no way of accomplishing even the first step towards freedom, that of loosening myself from the chain which held me to the wall, and even were that done, I dared not think of the difficulties I must still encounter before I should be free. And yet I could not believe it was to be my fate to die here, chained to the wall, like a rat in a trap.
I heard the door opening again, and I stared in amazement at the queer figure that entered, carrying in one hand a candle and in the other a plate of food. It was a girl with legs grotesquely bowed, and in an instant I recognized the child I had rescued on the Quai des Théatins. At the same moment, the light from the candle fell upon my face, and she knew me.
“You!” she cried. “You! Oh, my God!” and she let fall the candle and plate upon the floor, her legs seemed to give way beneath her, and she sat rocking herself helplessly, despair writ large upon her face.
I stared at her a moment astounded, understanding nothing of her emotion. Then the words she had uttered, blushing, on the quay, came back to me—words called forth, perhaps, by the first touch of kindness she had ever known——
“I think—I should like you—very much, Monsieur!”