Having left her for a moment while I made a call, I rejoined her. Laughing and chattering, she chaffingly alluded to our former attachment, and pouted in feigned displeasure at what she termed my inconstancy.
Down the Rue de la Régence we had sauntered slowly, and were passing the imposing façade of the Palais de Justice, when suddenly she stopped, and, uttering an exclamation of surprise at the proportions of the vast building which had been completed in her absence, requested me to take her to see the interior.
Mounting the broad flight of granite steps, we passed into the magnificent marble hall.
Strange how Fate is constantly our mistress and rules our every action.
We had crossed under the gilded dome and were about to enter one of the court-rooms, when my eye caught a large printed notice fixed to the wall.
I halted and read.
It was an imposing poster, headed in great black capitals, “Court of Assize,” and was the public announcement that Henri Pirlot had been sentenced to death by that tribunal for the wilful murder of his wife, Mariette, at a cottage near Spoel. It further stated that the condemned man had confessed that the cause of the crime was jealousy. He was intoxicated, and having discovered his wife kissing a strange man who had visited her in his absence, he went in and deliberately stabbed her to the heart!
“What a pair of idiots!” exclaimed Clémentine, with a light laugh, as she read the notice. “The idea of killing a woman because she kissed her lover! Again, what a simpleton the woman was not to have been more wary! But—why—what’s the matter, Théophile? You stand there gazing and looking as scared as if you’d seen a ghost. Any one would think you knew the rustic beauty, and were the strange lover!”
I started. A sickening sensation crept over me. The actress had little idea it was the terrible truth she uttered. I pleaded that I was not feeling well, and we left the building.