“And she went out about eight o’clock, went straight to the Association, came out again immediately, passed through diverse streets, and, finding herself alone in some little street, in some sombre corner without a light, she would take off her hat, replace it by a maid’s cap which she carried under her cape, fold a kerchief after the same fashion and tie it over her shoulders, carrying her hat and the garment she had worn in a napkin; she would go trotting along, full of courage, her hips uncovered, like a good little maid that had been sent upon some errand; and sometimes she would even run, as if she were in a great hurry.
“Who could have recognized in this trim servant the lively wife of President Amandon?
“She would arrive at the Cheval d’Or, go up to her room, to which she had the key, and the big proprietor, Maître Trouveau, seeing her pass his desk, would murmur:
“ ‘There is Mademoiselle Clarisse coming to meet some lover.’
“He had indeed guessed something, the rogue, but did not try to learn more, and he would certainly have been much surprised to find that his client was Madame Amandon, or Madame Marguerite, as she was called in Perthuis-le-Long. And this is how the horrible discovery took place.
“Never had Mademoiselle Clarisse come to her meeting-place two evenings in succession, never! being too nice and too prudent for that. And Maître Trouveau knew this well, since not once in eight years had he seen her come the next day after a visit. Often, therefore, in days of need, he had disposed of her room for a night.
“Now, last summer, Monsieur Amandon absented himself from home for a week. It was in July. Madame was ardently in love, and as there was no fear of being surprised, she asked her lover, the handsome Major Varangelles, one Tuesday evening on leaving him, if he wished her to return the next day.
“He replied: ‘How can you ask!’
“And it was agreed that they should return at the usual hour on Wednesday. She said to him in a low tone:
“ ‘If you arrive first, my dear, you can wait for me in bed.’
“Then they embraced and separated. The next day, as Maître Trouveau sat reading Les Tablettes de Perthuis, the Republican organ of the town, he cried out to his wife, who was plucking a fowl in the courtyard:
“ ‘Here! the cholera has broken out in the country. There was a man died yesterday of it in Vauvigny.’ But he thought no more about it, his inn being full of people, and business very good.
“Towards noon a traveller presented himself on foot, a kind of tourist, who ordered a good breakfast, after having drunk two absinthes. And, as he was very warm, he absorbed a bottle of wine and two bottles of water at least. Then he took his coffee and his little glass of liqueur, or rather three little glasses, and feeling rather drowsy he asked for a room where he might sleep for an hour or two. There was no longer a vacant room, and the proprietor, after consulting his wife, gave him Mademoiselle Clarisse’s.
“The man went in there and, about five o’clock, as he had not been seen coming out, the landlord went to wake him. What was his astonishment to find him dead!
“The innkeeper descended to find his wife: ‘Listen,’ he whispered to her, ‘the tourist I put in number 11, I believe is dead.’
“She raised her arms, crying: ‘It’s not possible! Lord God! It is the cholera!’
“Maître Trouveau shook his head:
“ ‘I should rather believe that it was a cerebral congestion, seeing that he is as black as the dregs of wine.’
“But the mistress was frightened and kept repeating:
“ ‘We must not mention it. We must not talk of it. People will say it is cholera. Go and make the report and say nothing. They will take him away in the night, and no one will know about it. “Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.” ’
“The man murmured: ‘Mademoiselle Clarisse was here yesterday, the room will be free this evening.’
“And he found the doctor who made out the certificate, ‘From congestion after a copious repast.’ Then he made an agreement with the commissioner of police to remove the dead body towards midnight, so that there might be no suspicion about the hotel.
“It was scarcely nine o’clock when Madame Amandon went secretly up the staircase of the Cheval d’Or, without being seen by anyone. She reached her room, opened the door, and entered. A candle was burning upon the chimneypiece. She turned toward the bed. The major, she thought, was already there and had closed the curtains.
“She said to him: ‘One minute, darling, and I am coming.’
“And she undressed with a feverish haste, throwing her boots upon the floor and her corset upon the armchair. Then, her black dress and skirts having fallen in a circle around her, she stood in her red silk chemise like a flower that has just blossomed.
“As the major said not a word, she asked:
“ ‘Are you asleep, my big dear?’
“He did not answer, and she began to laugh, murmuring:
“ ‘Wait! He is asleep. It is too funny!’
“She kept on her black silk openwork stockings and, running to the bed, slipped in quickly, seizing him full in her arms and kissing him on the lips, in order to wake him suddenly. It was the cold dead body of the traveller.
“For one second she remained immovable, too frightened to comprehend anything. But the cold of this inert flesh penetrated her own, giving her an atrocious fright before her mind had time to reflect.
“She made a bound out of the bed, trembling from head to foot; then running to the chimneypiece, she seized the candle, returned, and looked! And she perceived a frightful face that she had never before seen, black, swollen, with eyes closed, and a horrible grimace of the jaw.
“She uttered a cry, one of those piercing interminable cries
