"Yes," said Aunt Adèle, "in the old gentleman's room."
She took him there: it was cold, but she lit the gas.
"Steyn," she said, "I'm sorry for what I've done. I tidied up those papers a bit, there was such a litter. And on the ground was a ... a letter, a torn letter: the last one ... which the old gentleman meant to tear up.... I don't know how it happened, Steyn ... but, without intending to or knowing it, I ... I read that letter.... I would give all the money in the world not to have done it. I can't keep it to myself, all to myself. It's driving me crazy ... and slowly making me frightened ... and nervous.... See, here's the letter. I don't know if I'm doing right. Perhaps I'd have done better just to tear the letter up.... After all, that was the old man's wish...."
She gave him the four pieces.
"But then it will be best," said Steyn, "for me to tear up the letter ... and not read it...."
And he made a movement as though to tear the letter. But she stopped him:
"And leave me ... to carry about with me ... all by myself ... something that I can't speak of! No, no, read it, in Heaven's name ... for my sake, Steyn ... to share it with me.... Read it...."
Steyn read the letter.
Silence filled the room: a cold, lonely, wintry, silence, with not a sound but that of the flaring gas. From the faded characters of the frayed, yellow letter, torn in part, rose hatred, passion, mad jubilation, mad agony of love and remorse for a night of blood, an Indian mountain night, clattering with torrents of rain. With all of that these two had nothing to do; they were foreign to it; and yet the Thing that was passing brushed against their bodies, their souls, their lives. It made them start, reflect, look each other shudderingly in the eyes, strangers though they were to the Thing that was passing....
"It is terrible," said Steyn. "And no one knows it?..."