And at last it seemed to her that she
detected a faint sound, scarcely a breath, far away.
What was it? No, there was nothing yet. Perhaps she had dreamt that
horrible scene, perhaps it had all been a nightmare; that man marching
on, that black pit, that loud cry of terror! Since she heard nothing,
perhaps nothing had really happened. Were it true a clamor would have
ascended from below in a growing wave of sound, and a distracted rush up
the staircase and along the passages would have brought her the news.
Then again she detected the faint distant sound, which seemed to draw a
little nearer. It was not the tramping of a crowd; it seemed to be a mere
footfall, perhaps that of some pedestrian on the quay. Yet no; it came
from the works, and now it was quite distinct; it ascended steps and then
sped along a passage. And the steps became quicker, and a panting could
be heard, so tragical that she at last divined that the horror was at
hand. All at once the door was violently flung open. Morange entered. He
was alone, beside himself, with livid face and scarce able to stammer.
"He still breathes, but his head is smashed; it is all over.
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