Had that monstrous vegetation growing within her
reached her brain then? A rush of blood suffices at times to bedim a
conscience. But she obstinately clung to the view that she had been
absent; she forced back her tears and remained frigid. No remorse came to
her. It was done, and 'twas good that it should be done. It was
necessary. She had not pushed him, he himself had fallen. Had she not
been there he would have fallen just the same. And so since she had not
been there, since both her brain and her heart had been absent, it did
not concern her. And ever and ever resounded the words which absolved her
and chanted her victory; he was dead, and would never possess the works.
Erect in the middle of the drawing-room, Constance listened, straining
her ears. Why was it that she heard nothing? How long they were in going
down to pick him up! Anxiously waiting for the tumult which she expected,
the clamor of horror which would assuredly rise from the works, the heavy
footsteps, the loud calls, she held her breath, quivering at the
slightest, faintest sound. Several minutes still elapsed, and the cosey
quietude of her drawing-room pleased her.
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