."
He started violently as a fantastic shadow suddenly crossed his
path, in the moonlight, and a peal of violent laughter assailed his
ears.
"Enfin! Toi, mon Claude!--enfin!--Grace a Dieu! Enfin!"
And the crazed creature, known as Marguerite, "La Folle", stood
before him, her long black hair streaming over her bare chest and
gaunt arms, her eyes dilated, and glowing with the mingled light of
madness and despair.
Cazeau turned a livid white in the moon-rays;--his blood grew icy
cold. What! After two years of dodging about the streets of Rouen to
avoid meeting this wretched woman whom he had tricked and betrayed,
had she found him at last!
"When did you come back from the fair?" cried the girl shrilly, "I
lost you there, you know-and you man-aged to lose ME--but I have
waited!--waited patiently for news of you! . . . and when none came, I
still waited, making myself beautiful! . . . see!--" And she thrust her
fingers through her long hair, throwing it about in wilder disorder
than ever. "You thought you had killed me--and you were glad!--it
makes all men glad to kill women when they can! But I--I was not
killed so easily,--I have lived!--for this night--just for this
night! Listen!" and she sprang forward and threw herself violently
against his breast, "Do you love me now? Tell me again--as you told
me at the fair--you love me?"
He staggered under her weight--and tried for a moment to thrust her
back, but she held him in a grip of iron, looking up at him with her
great feverish dark eyes, and grasping his shoulders with thin
burning hands.
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