He was under a spell.
Straight home drove the master-carpenter's reasoning now. "Kill me, and
you lose her for ever. Kill me, and she will hate you. You think she
will not find out? Then see: as I die I will shriek out so loud that she
can hear me, and she will understand. She will go mad, and give you over
to the law. And then--and then! Did you ever think what will become of
your child, of your Zoe, if you go to the gallows? That would be your
legacy and your blessing to her--the death of a murderer; and she would
be left alone with the woman that would hate you in death! Voila--do you
not see?"
Jean Jacques saw. The terrific logic of the thing smote him. His wife
hating him, himself on the scaffold, his little Zoe disgraced and
dishonoured all her life; and himself out of it all, unable to help her,
and bringing irremediable trouble on her! As a chemical clears a muddy
liquid, leaving it pure and atomless, so there seemed to pass over Jean
Jacques' face a thought like a revelation.
He took his hand from the lever. For a moment he stood like one awakened
out of a sleep. He put his hands to his eyes, then shook his head as
though to free it of some hateful burden.
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