I feel the same cold shivers down my back that I remember feeling long ago, when my nurse induced me to go into a churchyard. I thought I saw all the dead coming out of their graves. That was a foggy evening, too. How strange it is that such far-off things return so clearly to the mind.
The trees are quite motionless, as though they were listening for something. What do they hear? There is not a soul here—only Jeanne and myself.
Another time I shall forbid Torp to make these excursions. If she must go to church, she shall go in the morning.
It is very uncanny living here all alone in the forest, without a watch-dog, or a man near at hand. One is at the mercy of any passerby.
For instance, the other day, some tipsy sailors came and tried the handle of the front-door.... But then, I was not in the least frightened; I even inspired Torp with courage.
I have a feeling that Jeanne is sitting upstairs in mortal terror. I sit here with my pen in my hand like a weapon of defence. If I could only make up my mind to ring....
There, it is done! My hand is trembling like an aspen leaf, but I must not let her see that I am frightened. I must behave as though nothing had happened.
Poor girl! She rushed into the room without knocking, pale as a corpse, her eyes starting from her head. She clung to me like a child that has just awakened from a bad dream.
What is the matter with us? We are both terrified. The fog seems to have affected our wits.
I have lit every lamp and candle, and they flicker fitfully, like Jeanne's eyes.