On one occasion he rose and opened the window with such violence that his wife rushed forward and threw her arms round him.
“What are you going to do?” she demanded.
“Just get a breath of air! And you, what do you want?”
“I am only embracing you,” she answered.
On March 18, 1849, a Sunday, I think it was, his wife said to him:
“I am going to church. Will you come with me?”
He was religious, and his wife, with loving watchfulness, remained with him as much as possible.
He replied: “Presently!” and went into the next room, which was his son’s bedroom.
A few minutes elapsed. Suddenly Mme. Antonin Moyne heard a noise similar to that made by the slamming of a front door. But she knew what it was. She started and cried: “It is that dreadful pistol!”
She rushed into the room her husband had entered, then recoiled in horror. She had seen a body stretched upon the floor.