Since morning, indeed, she had been complaining of feeling
uncomfortable, and all her stupid notions, as she phrased it, notions
about death and hell, were secretly torturing her. From time to time
she had nights such as these, during which childish fears and atrocious
fancies would thrill her with waking nightmares. She continued:
"I say, d'you think I shall go to heaven?"
And with that she shivered, while the count, in his surprise at her
putting such singular questions at such a moment, felt his old religious
remorse returning upon him. Then with her chemise slipping from her
shoulders and her hair unpinned, she again threw herself upon his
breast, sobbing and clinging to him as she did so.
"I'm afraid of dying! I'm afraid of dying!" He had all the trouble in
the world to disengage himself. Indeed, he was himself afraid of giving
in to the sudden madness of this woman clinging to his body in her dread
of the Invisible. Such dread is contagious, and he reasoned with her.
Her conduct was perfect--she had only to conduct herself well in order
one day to merit pardon. But she shook her head. Doubtless she was doing
no one any harm; nay, she was even in the constant habit of wearing a
medal of the Virgin, which she showed to him as it hung by a red thread
between her breasts.
Pages:
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625