His thoughts
unconsciously took an evil turn. His mind dwelt exclusively on the
hundred thousand francs which lay beneath the merchant's pillow. To
Prosper Magnan one hundred thousand francs was a vast and ready-made
fortune. He began to employ it in a hundred different ways; he made
castles in the air, such as we all make with eager delight during the
moments preceding sleep, an hour when images rise in our minds
confusedly, and often, in the silence of the night, thought acquires
some magical power. He gratified his mother's wishes; he bought the
thirty acres of meadow land; he married a young lady of Beauvais to
whom his present want of fortune forbade him to aspire. With a hundred
thousand francs he planned a lifetime of happiness; he saw himself
prosperous, the father of a family, rich, respected in his province,
and, possibly, mayor of Beauvais. His brain heated; he searched for
means to turn his fictions to realities. He began with extraordinary
ardor to plan a crime theoretically. While fancying the death of the
merchant he saw distinctly the gold and the diamonds. His eyes were
dazzled by them. His heart throbbed. Deliberation was, undoubtedly,
already crime. Fascinated by that mass of gold he intoxicated himself
morally by murderous arguments. He asked himself if that poor German
had any need to live; he supposed the case of his never having
existed.
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