“You know the reason, Madame.”
“Because of your love for me?”
Bruno was silent.
“You are wrong. A strange infatuation has governed you, which time and our brave little Sidonie will cure. At heart I am responsible for my husband’s death, because I wished it, and I even suggested to two men the idea of avenging me. One of those men was Firmin; the other was you, Bruno.”
Bruno here made an impatient gesture, as though to silence her. But she continued in a low tone: “You see, it was not for the sake of friendship, but to be revenged. But I did not deceive you. You thought me guilty.”
Bruno again tried to quiet her.
“Do not deny it, Bruno. When you confessed the crime it was to shield me, for you believed me guilty. And so I was in intent, though I did not perform the deed. All night I waited expecting to hear the shot which should make me free. At last it came. And oh, the agony of that moment!”
A profound stillness supervened. Sidonie, with tearful eyes, gazed at Catherine. Bruno was deeply affected as he saw the once beautiful woman torn with grief and remorse. In gasps she told them of the horrible night she had passed; of the bloody fingers that seemed always to clasp her cheek; of the ghastly discovery at early dawn. All this she told them without trying to palliate her part in it. Her suffering was pitiful.
“God knows how penitent I am, and to him alone can I turn in my anguish and wickedness. Every moment those bloody fingers seem burning into my flesh. That is my just punishment. It will follow me wherever I go. I cannot escape. The blood of my innocent husband will be forever on my head. My hands will wear the crimson stain so long as I live. My cheek will always bear the marks of bloody fingers. My poor Savin’s legacy to me is a legacy of blood!”
She paused in a paroxysm of passion.