However, on arriving there, he declared that his animals and
himself could endure no more, and after receiving the amount due
to him, he departed.
The air was chilly, the night dark, and the street deserted. The
gloomy silence was only disturbed at long intervals by the opening
or shutting of a door, or by the distant tread of some belated
pedestrian. Having at least twenty minutes to wait, Pascal sat
down on the curbstone opposite the Hotel de Chalusse, and fixed
his eyes upon the building as if he were striving to penetrate the
massive walls, and see what was passing within. Only one window--
that of the room where the dead man was lying--was lighted up, and
he could vaguely distinguish the motionless form of a woman
standing with her forehead pressed against the pane of glass. A
prey to the indescribable agony which seizes a man when he feels
that his life is at stake--that his future is about to be
irrevocably decided--Pascal counted the seconds as they passed by.
He found it impossible to reflect, to deliberate, to decide on any
plan of action. He forgot the tortures he had endured during the
last twenty-four hours; Coralth, Valorsay, Madame d'Argeles, the
baron, no longer existed for him. He forgot his loss of honor and
position, and the disgrace attached to his name. The past was
annihilated, as it were, and he could think of no future beyond
the next few moments. His physical condition undoubtedly
contributed to his mental weakness.
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