At a little past midnight she heard carriage wheels. The horses’ hoofs clattered over the frozen road, and then passing the cottage at the corner of the wood their echoes grew fainter and fainter until they no longer could be heard. Was her husband’s wounded or death-cold form being borne away in that late-hour vehicle? Catherine asked herself this question with a cold shudder, as she crouched down beside her chamber window and waited. Perchance to distract her thoughts she began to count the branches of the trees in front of the cottage. But this was a vain and mocking pastime. Every rustle of the leaves to her alarmed senses seemed like the report of a gun. Even the creaking of the floor under her weight as she moved startled her. Once more she went to bed, but only to toss about in dire distress.
The terrible situation appalled her; and the more she considered it, the more atrocious seemed the part she was playing. Visions of Savin her husband, he who had protected her against the world, the man to whom she owed everything—wounded and perhaps dying at that very moment—haunted her. And yet, he had humiliated her. Yes; but what a fearful vengeance—that he should die because of a few vehement words!
Two o’clock. O God! Would the night never pass? Perhaps, after all, he was safe. “Firmin is such a coward! Who knows if he would dare carry out his threat? Why do I torment myself about it? When Firmin sees Savin, he will not dare lift his little finger. God be praised! Firmin is a poltroon—that I know, and why should I fear?”
Half-past two.
“How the hours creep! Oh, what if Firmin should attack him from behind? Yes, that is what he would do—the coward! He would take him unawares. And I am the cause! Oh, no, no! It cannot be!”
Catherine hurriedly dressed herself, determined to seek her husband and end her apprehensive suspense. As she crossed the threshold the air made her shiver and she turned back, and while searching for her shawl she regained a share of her wonted composure.
“After all,” she reflected aloud, “I am foolish. If Firmin, as is probable, becomes frightened and runs home, I shall only get deeper into trouble. At this hour all is settled, one way or the other, but Savin probably is quite safe and uninjured. Firmin is too much of a coward to carry out his threat. And why should I show such an interest, anyway? Why, indeed?”
In a nearly tranquil mood she again seated herself at the window. But her tranquillity did not last long. Soon she was assailed by doubts and emotions that brought fresh tears to her eyes.
“But what if he be dead at this instant? What if he were so far from here that I could not have heard the report?”
A revulsive paroxysm of grief and remorse made her moan piteously.