"It is a very dexterous restitution," said he. "Let us bury the hatchet. We shall, however, nip the man one of these days."
But he has never been nipped. No. They have not nipped him, and I am afraid of him now, as though he were a ferocious animal that had been let loose behind me.
Inexplicable! It is inexplicable, this monster of a moon-struck skull! We shall never get to comprehend it. I shall not return to my former residence. What does it matter to me? I am afraid of encountering that man again, and I shall not run the risk.
I shall not risk it! I shall not risk it! I shall not risk it!
And if he returns, if he takes possession of his shop, who is to prove that my furniture was on his premises? There is only my testimony against him; and I feel that that is not above suspicion.
Ah! no! This kind of existence was no longer possible. I was not able to guard the secret of what I had seen. I could not continue to live like the rest of the world, with the fear upon me that those scenes might be re-enacted.
I have come to consult the doctor who directs this lunatic asylum, and I have told him everything.
After he had interrogated me for a long time, he said to me:
"Will you consent, monsieur, to remain here for some time?"
"Most willingly, monsieur."