From that moment on they never touched each other: the shadow of death was upon them: they were sacred to each other.
But they put off appointing a time for their decision. They kept on saying: “Tomorrow, tomorrow …” And they turned their eyes away from their tomorrow. Christophe’s mighty soul had wild spasms of revolt: he would not consent to his defeat: he despised suicide, and he could not resign himself to such a pitiful and abrupt conclusion of his splendid life. As for Anna, how could she, unless she were forced, accept the idea of a death which must lead to eternal death? But ruthless necessity was at their heels, and the circle was slowly narrowing about them.
That morning, for the first time since the betrayal, Christophe was left alone with Braun. Until then he had succeeded in avoiding him. He found it intolerable to be with him. He had to make an excuse to avoid eating at the same table: the food stuck in his throat. To shake the man’s hand, to eat his bread, to give the kiss of Judas! … Most odious for him to think of was not the contempt he had for himself so much as the agony of suffering that Braun must endure if he should come to know. … The idea of it crucified him. He knew only too well that poor Braun would never avenge himself, that perhaps he would not even have the strength to hate them: but what an utter wreck of all his life! … How would he regard him! Christophe felt that he could not face the reproach in his eyes.—And it was inevitable that sooner or later Braun would be warned. Did he not already suspect something? Seeing him again after his fortnight’s absence Christophe was struck by the change in him: Braun was not the same man. His gaiety had disappeared, or there was something forced in it. At meals he would stealthily glance at Anna, who talked not at all, ate not at all, and seemed to be burning away like the oil in a lamp. With timid, touching kindness he tried to look after her: she rejected his attentions harshly: then he bent his head over his plate and relapsed into silence. Anna could bear it no longer, and flung her napkin on the table in the middle of the meal and left the room. The two men finished their dinner in silence, or pretended to do so, for they ate nothing: they dared not raise their eyes. When they had finished, Christophe was on the point of going when Braun suddenly clasped his arm with both hands and said:
“Christophe!”
Christophe looked at him uneasily.
“Christophe,” said Braun again—(his voice was shaking)—“do you know what’s the matter with her?”
Christophe stood transfixed: for a moment or two he could find nothing to say. Braun stood looking at him timidly: very quickly he begged his pardon:
“You see a good deal of her, she trusts you. …”
Christophe was very near taking Braun’s hands and kissing them and begging his forgiveness. Braun saw Christophe’s downcast expression, and, at once, he was terrified, and refused to see: he cast him a beseeching look and stammered hurriedly and gasped:
“No, no. You know nothing? Nothing?”
Christophe was overwhelmed and said:
“No.”
Oh! the bitterness of not being able to lay bare his offense, to humble himself, since to do so would be to break the heart of the man he had wronged! Oh! the bitterness of being unable to tell the truth, when he could see in the eyes of the man asking him for it, that he could not, would not know the truth! …
“Thanks, thank you. I thank you. …” said Braun.
He stayed with his hands plucking at Christophe’s sleeve as though there was something else he wished to ask, and yet dared not, avoiding his eyes. Then he let go, sighed, and went away.
Christophe was appalled by this new lie. He hastened to Anna. Stammering in his excitement, he told her what had happened. Anna listened gloomily and said:
“Oh, well. He knows. What does it matter?”
“How can you talk like that?” cried Christophe. “It is horrible! I will not have him suffer, whatever it may cost us, whatever it may cost.”
Anna grew angry.
“And what if he does suffer? Don’t I have to suffer? Let him suffer too!”
They said bitter things to each other. He accused her of loving only herself. She reproached him with thinking more of her husband than of herself.
But a moment later, when he told her that he could not go on living like that, and that he would go and tell the whole story to Braun, then she cried out on him for his selfishness, declaring that she did not care a bit about Christophe’s conscience, but was quite determined that Braun should never know.
In spite of her hard words she was thinking as much of Braun as of Christophe. Though she had no real affection for her husband she was fond of him. She had a religious respect for social ties and the duties they involve. Perhaps she did not think that it was the duty of a wife to be kind and to love her husband: but she did think that she was compelled scrupulously to fulfil her household duties and to remain faithful. It seemed to her ignoble to fail in that object as she herself had done.
And even more surely than Christophe she knew that Braun must know everything very soon. It was something to her credit that she concealed the fact from Christophe, either because she did not wish to add to his troubles or more probably because of her pride.
Secluded though the Braun household was, secret though the tragedy might remain that was being
