The dread3 reality passed through the darkness of her mind like pictures which she strove not to see, but which at times became so clearly defined that she imagined herself to be living through those atrocious scenes again.
Still she sought no explanation of all this and formed no theories as to all the motives4 which might have thrown a light upon the tragedy. She admitted the madness of François and of Stéphane Maroux, being unable to suppose any other reasons for such actions as theirs. And, believing the two murderers to be mad, she did not even try to attribute to them any projects or definite wishes.
Moreover, Honorine's madness, of which she had, so to speak, observed the outbreak, impelled5 her to look upon all that had happened as provoked by a sort of mental upset to which all the people of Sarek had fallen victims. She herself at moments felt that her brain was reeling, that her ideas were fading away in a mist, that invisible ghosts were hovering6 around her.
[Pg 88]She dozed7 off into a sleep which was haunted by these images and in which she felt so wretched that she began to sob8. Also it seemed to her that she could hear a slight noise which, in her benumbed wits, assumed a hostile significance. Enemies were approaching. She opened her eyes.
A couple of yards in front of her, sitting upon its haunches, was a queer animal, covered with long mud-coloured hair and holding its fore-paws folded like a pair of arms.
It was a dog; and she at once remembered François' dog, of which Honorine had spoken as a dear, devoted9, comical creature. She even remembered his name, All's-Well.
As she uttered this name in an undertone, she felt an angry impulse and was almost driving away the animal endowed with such an ironical10 nickname. All's-Well! And she thought of all the victims of the horrible nightmare, of all the dead people of Sarek, of her murdered father, of Honorine killing11 herself, of François going mad. All's-Well, forsooth!
Meanwhile the dog did not stir. He was sitting up as Honorine had described, with his head a little on one side, one eye closed, the corners of his mouth drawn12 back to his ears and his arms crossed in front of him; and there was really something very like a smile flitting over his face.
Véronique now remembered: this was the manner in which All's-Well displayed his sympathy for those in trouble. All's-Well could not bear the sight of tears. When people wept, he sat up until they in their turn smiled and petted him.
[Pg 89]Véronique did not smile, but she pressed him against her and said:
"No, my poor dog, all's not well; on the contrary, all's as bad as it can be. No matter: we must live, mustn't we, and we mustn't go mad ourselves like the others?"
The necessities of life obliged her to act. She went down to the kitchen, found some food and gave the dog a good share of it. Then she went upstairs again.
Night had fallen. She opened, on the first floor, the door of a bedroom which at ordinary times must have been unoccupied. She was weighed down with an immense fatigue13, caused by all the efforts and violent emotions which she had undergone. She fell asleep almost at once. All's Well lay awake at the foot of her bed.
Next morning she woke late, with a curious feeling of peace and security. It seemed to her that her present life was somehow connected with her calm and placid14 life at Besançon. The few days of horror which she had passed fell away from her like distant events whose return she had no need to fear. The men and women who had gone under in the great horror became to her mind almost like strangers whom one has met and does not expect to see again. Her heart ceased bleeding. Her sorrow for them did not reach the depths of her soul.
It was due to the unforeseen and undisturbed rest, the consoling solitude15. And all this seemed to her so pleasant that, when a steamer came and anchored on the spot of the disaster, she made no signal. No doubt yesterday, from the mainland,[Pg 90] they had seen the flash of the explosions and heard the report of the shots. Véronique remained motionless.
She saw a boat put off from the steamer and supposed that they were going to land and explore the village. But not only did she dread an enquiry in which her son might be involved: she herself did not wish to be found, to be questioned, to have her name, her identity, her story discovered and to be brought back into the infernal circle from which she had escaped. She preferred to wait a week or two, to wait until chance brought within hailing-distance of the island some fishing-boat which could pick her up.
And so she remained for three days. Fate seemed to have reconsidered its intention of making fresh assaults upon her. She was alone and her own mistress. All's Well, whose company had done her a world of good, disappeared.
The Priory domain17 occupied the whole end of the island, on the site of a Benedictine abbey, which had been abandoned in the fifteenth century and gradually fallen into ruin and decay.
The house, built in the eighteenth century by a wealthy Breton ship-owner out of the materials of the old abbey and the stones of the chapel18, was in no way interesting either outside or in. Véronique, for that matter, did not dare to enter any of the rooms. The memory of her father and son checked her before the closed doors.
But, on the second day, in the bright spring sunshine, she explored the park. It extended to the[Pg 91] point of the island and, like the sward in front of the house, was studded with ruins and covered with ivy19. She noticed that all the paths ran towards a steep promontory20 crowned with a clump21 of enormous oaks. When she reached the spot, she found that these oaks stood round a crescent-shaped clearing which was open to the sea.
In the centre of the clearing was a cromlech with a rather short, oval table upheld by two supports of rock, which were almost square. The spot possessed22 an impressive magnificence and commanded a boundless23 view.
"The Fairies' Dolmen, of which Honorine spoke," thought Véronique. "I cannot be far from the Calvary and Maguennoc's flowers."
She walked round the megalith. The inner surface of the two uprights bore a few illegible24 engraved25 signs. But the two outer surfaces facing the sea formed as it were two smooth slabs26 prepared to receive an inscription27; and here she saw something that caused her to shudder28 with anguish29. On the right, deeply encrusted, was an unskilful, primitive30 drawing of four crosses with four female figures writhing31 upon them. On the left was a column of lines of writing, whose characters, inadequately32 carved in the stone, had been almost obliterated33 by the weather, or perhaps even deliberately34 effaced35 by human hands. A few words remained, however, the very words which Véronique had read on the drawing which she found beside Maguennoc's corpse36:
Véronique moved away, staggering. The mystery was once more before her, as everywhere in the island, and she was determined38 to escape from it until the moment when she could leave Sarek altogether.
She took a path which started from the clearing and led past the last oak on the right. This oak appeared to have been struck by lightning, for all that remained of it was the trunk and a few dead branches.
Farther on, she went down some stone steps, crossed a little meadow in which stood four rows of menhirs and stopped suddenly with a stifled39 cry, a cry of admiration40 and amazement41, before the sight that presented itself to her eyes.
"Maguennoc's flowers," she whispered.
The last two menhirs of the central alley42 which she was following stood like the posts of a door that opened upon the most glorious spectacle, a rectangular space, fifty yards long at most, which was reached by a short descending43 flight of steps and bordered by two rows of menhirs all of the same height and placed at accurately44 measured intervals46, like the columns of a temple. The nave47 and side-aisles of this temple were paved with wide, irregular, broken granite48 flag-stones, which the grass, growing in the cracks, marked with patterns similar to those of the lead which frames the pieces of a stained-glass window.
In the middle was a small bed of flowers thronging49 around an ancient stone crucifix. But such flowers! Flowers which the wildest imagination or fancy never conceived, dream-flowers, miraculous50 flowers, flowers out of all proportion to ordinary flowers!
[Pg 93]Véronique recognized all of them; and yet she stood dumbfounded at their size and splendour. There were flowers of many varieties, but few of each variety. It was like a nosegay made to contain every colour, every perfume and every beauty that flowers can possess.
And the strangest thing was that these flowers, which do not usually bloom at the same time and which open in successive months, were all growing and blossoming together! On one and the same day, these flowers, all perennial51 flowers whose time does not last much more than two or three weeks, were blooming and multiplying, full and heavy, vivid, sumptuous52, proudly borne on their sturdy stems.
There were spiderworts, there were ranunculi, tiger-lilies, columbines, blood-red potentillas, irises53 of a brighter violet than a bishop's cassock. There were larkspurs, phlox, fuchsias, monk's-hoods, montbretias. And, above all this, to Véronique's intense emotion, above the dazzling flower-bed, standing54 a little higher in a narrow border around the pedestal of the crucifix, with all their blue, white and violet clusters seeming to lift themselves so as to touch the Saviour's very form, were veronicas!
She was faint with emotion. As she came nearer, she had read on a little label fastened to the pedestal these two words.
"Mother's flowers."
Véronique did not believe in miracles. She was obliged to admit that the flowers were wonderful, beyond all comparison with the flowers of our climes. But she refused to think that this anomaly was not to be explained except by supernatural causes or by magic recipes of which Maguennoc held the secret. No, there was some reason, perhaps a very simple one, of which events would afford a full explanation.
Meanwhile, amid the beautiful pagan setting, in the very centre of the miracle which it seemed to have wrought55 by its presence, the figure of Christ Crucified rose from the mass of flowers which offered Him their colours and their perfumes. Véronique knelt and prayed.
Next day and the day after, she returned to the Calvary of the Flowers. Here the mystery that surrounded her on every side had manifested itself in the most charming fashion; and her son played a part in it that enabled Véronique to think of him, before her own flowers, without hatred56 or despair.
But, on the fifth day, she perceived that her provisions were becoming exhausted57; and in the middle of the afternoon she went down to the village.
There she noticed that most of the houses had been left open, so certain had their owners been, on leaving, of coming back again and taking what they needed in a second trip.
Sick at heart, she dared not cross the thresholds. There were geraniums on the window-ledges. Tall clocks with brass58 pendulums59 were ticking off the time in the empty rooms. She moved away.
In a shed near the quay60, however, she saw the sacks and boxes which Honorine had brought with her in the motor-boat.
"Well," she thought, "I shan't starve. There's enough to last me for weeks; and by that time . . ."
She filled a basket with chocolate, biscuits, a few tins of preserved meat, rice and matches; and she was on the point of returning to the Priory, when it occurred to her that she would continue her walk to the other end of the island. She would fetch her basket on the way back.
A shady road climbed upwards61 on the right. The landscape seemed to be the same: the same flat stretches of moorland, without ploughed fields or pastures; the same clumps62 of ancient oaks. The island also became narrower, with no obstacle to block the view of the sea on either side or of the Penmarch headland in the distance.
There was also a hedge which ran from one cliff to the other and which served to enclose a property, a shabby property, with a straggling, dilapidated, tumbledown house upon it, some out-houses with patched roofs and a dirty, badly-kept yard, full of scrap-iron and stacks of firewood.
Véronique was already retracing63 her steps, when she stopped in alarm and surprise. It seemed to her that she heard some one moan. She listened, striving to plumb64 the vast silence, and once again the same sound, but this time more distinctly, reached her ears; and there were others: cries of pain, cries for help, women's cries. Then had not all the inhabitants taken to flight? She had a feeling of joy mingled65 with some sorrow, to know that she was not alone in Sarek, and of fear also, at the thought that events would perhaps drag her back again into the fatal cycle of death and horror.
So far as Véronique was able to judge, the noise came not from the house, but from the buildings on the right of the yard. This yard was closed with a simple gate which she had only to push and which opened with the creaking sound of wood upon wood.
The cries in the out-house at once increased in number. The people inside had no doubt heard Véronique approach. She hastened her steps.
Though the roof of the out-buildings was gone in places, the walls were thick and solid, with old arched doors strengthened with iron bars. There was a knocking against one of these doors from the inside, while the cries became more urgent:
"Help! Help!"
But there was a dispute; and another, less strident voice grated:
"Be quiet, Clémence, can't you? It may be them!"
"No, no, Gertrude, it's not! I don't hear them! . . . Open the door, will you? The key ought to be there."
Véronique, who was seeking for some means of entering, now saw a big key in the lock. She turned it; and the door opened.
She at once recognized the sisters Archignat, half-dressed, gaunt, evil-looking, witch-like. They were in a wash-house filled with implements66; and Véronique saw at the back, lying on some straw, a third woman, who was bewailing her fate in an almost inaudible voice and who was obviously the third sister.
At that moment, one of the first two collapsed67 from exhaustion68; and the other, whose eyes were bright with fever, seized Véronique by the arm and began to gasp69:
"Did you see them, tell me? . . . Are they there? . . . How is it they didn't kill you? . . . They are the masters of Sarek since the others went off . . . . And it's our turn next . . . . We've been locked in here now for six days . . . . Listen, it was on the day when everybody left. We three came here, to the wash-house, to fetch our linen70, which was drying. And then they came . . . . We didn't hear them . . . . One never does hear them . . . . And then, suddenly, the door was locked on us . . . . A slam, a turn of the key . . . and the thing was done . . . . We had bread, apples and best of all, brandy . . . . We didn't do so badly . . . . Only, were they going to come back and kill us? Was it our turn next? . . . Oh, my dear good lady, how we strained our ears! And how we trembled with fear! . . . My eldest71 sister's gone crazy . . . . Hark, you can hear her raving72 . . . . The other, Clémence, has borne all she can . . . . And I . . . I . . . Gertrude . . ."
Gertrude had plenty of strength left, for she was twisting Véronique's arm:
"And Corréjou? He came back, didn't he, and went away again? Why didn't anyone come to look for us? It would have been easy enough: everybody knew where we were; and we called out at the least sound. So what does it all mean?"
She replied:
"The two boats went down."
"What?"
"The two boats sank in view of Sarek. All on board were drowned. It was opposite the Priory . . . after leaving the Devil's Passage."
Véronique said no more, so as to avoid mentioning the names of François and his tutor or speaking[Pg 98] of the part which these two had played. But Clémence now sat up, with distorted features. She had been leaning against the door and raised herself to her knees.
Gertrude murmured:
"And Honorine?"
"Honorine is dead."
"Dead!"
The two sisters both cried out at once. Then they were silent and looked at each other. The same thought struck them both. They seemed to be reflecting. Gertrude was moving her fingers as though counting. And the terror on their two faces increased.
Speaking in a very low voice, as though choking with fear, Gertrude, with her eyes fixed74 on Véronique, said:
"That's it . . . that's it . . . I've got the total . . . . Do you know how many there were in the boats, without my sisters and me? Do you know? Twenty . . . . Well, reckon it up: twenty . . . and Maguennoc, who was the first to die . . . and M. Antoine, who died afterwards . . . and little François and M. Stéphane, who vanished, but who are dead too . . . and Honorine and Marie Le Goff, both dead . . . . So reckon it up: that makes twenty-six, twenty-six . . . The total's correct, isn't it? . . . Now take twenty-six from thirty . . . . You understand, don't you? The thirty coffins: they have to be filled . . . . So twenty-six from thirty . . . leaves four, doesn't it?"
She could no longer speak; her tongue faltered75. Nevertheless the terrible syllables76 came from her mouth; and Véronique heard her stammering77:
"Eh? Do you understand? . . . That leaves four . . . us four . . . the three sisters Archignat, who were kept behind and locked up . . . and yourself . . . . So—do you follow me?—the three crosses—you know, the 'four women crucified'—the number's there . . . it's our four selves . . . there's no one besides us on the island . . . four women . . . ."
Véronique had listened in silence. She broke out into a slight perspiration78.
"Well? And then? If there's no one except ourselves on the island, what are you afraid of?"
"Them, of course! Them!"
Véronique lost her patience:
"But if everybody has gone!" she exclaimed.
Gertrude took fright:
"Speak low. Suppose they heard you!"
"But who?"
"They: the people of old."
"The people of old?"
"Yes, those who used to make sacrifices . . . the people who killed men and women . . . to please their gods."
"But that's a thing of the past! The Druids: is that what you mean? Come, come; there are no Druids nowadays."
"Speak quietly! Speak quietly! There are still . . . there are evil spirits . . ."
"Then they're ghosts?" asked Véronique, horror-stricken by these superstitions81.
"Ghosts, yes, but ghosts of flesh and blood . . . with hands that lock doors and keep you imprisoned82 . . . creatures that sink boats, the same, I tell you, that killed M. Antoine, Marie Le Goff and the others . . . that killed twenty-six of us . . . ."
Véronique did not reply. There was no reply to make. She knew, she knew only too well who had killed M. d'Hergemont, Marie Le Goff and the others and sunk the two boats.
"What time was it when the three of you were locked in?" she asked.
"Half-past ten . . . . We had arranged to meet Corréjou in the village at eleven."
Véronique reflected. It was hardly possible that François and Stéphane should have had time to be at half-past ten in this place and an hour later to be behind the rock from which they had darted83 out upon the two boats. Was it to be presumed that one or more of their accomplices84 were left on the island?
"In any case," she said, "you must come to a decision. You can't remain in this state. You must rest yourselves, eat something . . . ."
The second sister had risen to her feet. She said, in the same hollow and violent tones as her sister:
"First of all, we must hide . . . and be able to defend ourselves against them."
"What do you mean?" asked Véronique.
She too, in spite of herself, felt this need of a refuge against a possible enemy.
"What do I mean? I'll tell you. The thing has been talked about a lot in the island, especially this year; and Maguennoc decided85 that, at the first attack, everybody should take shelter in the Priory."
"Why in the Priory?"
"Because we could defend ourselves there. The cliffs are perpendicular86. You're protected on every side."
"What about the bridge?"
"Maguennoc and Honorine thought of everything. There's a little hut fifteen yards to the left of the bridge. That's the place they hit on to keep their stock of petrol in. Empty three or four cans over the bridge, strike a match . . . and the thing's done. You're just as in your own home. You can't be got at and you can't be attacked."
"Then why didn't they come to the Priory instead of taking to flight in the boats?"
"It was safer to escape in the boats. But we no longer have the choice."
"And when shall we start?"
"At once. It's daylight still; and that's better than the dark."
"But your sister, the one on her back?"
"We have a barrow. We've got to wheel her. There's a direct road to the Priory, without passing through the village."
Véronique could not help looking with repugnance88 upon the prospect89 of living in close intimacy90 with the sisters Archignat. She yielded, however, swayed by a fear which she was unable to overcome:
"Very well," she said. "Let's go. I'll take you to the Priory and come back to the village to fetch some provisions."
"Oh, you mustn't be away long!" protested one of the sisters. "As soon as the bridge is cut, we'll light a bonfire on Fairies' Dolmen Hill and they'll send a steamer from the mainland. To-day the fog is coming up; but to-morrow . . ."
Véronique raised no objection. She now accepted the idea of leaving Sarek, even at the cost of an enquiry which would reveal her name.
They started, after the two sisters had swallowed a glass of brandy. The madwoman sat huddled in the wheel-barrow, laughing softly and uttering little sentences which she addressed to Véronique as though she wanted her to laugh too:
"We shan't meet them yet . . . . They're getting ready . . . ."
"Shut up, you old fool!" said Gertrude. "You'll bring us bad luck."
"Yes, yes, we shall see some sport . . . . It'll be great fun . . . . I have a cross of gold hung round my neck . . . and another cut into the skin of my head . . . . Look! . . . Crosses everywhere . . . . One ought to be comfortable on the cross . . . . One ought to sleep well there . . . ."
"Shut up, will you, you old fool?" repeated Gertrude, giving her a box on the ear.
"All right, all right! . . . But it's they who'll hit you; I see them hiding! . . ."
The path, which was pretty rough at first, reached the table-land formed by the west cliffs, which were loftier, but less rugged80 and worn away than the others. The woods were scarcer; and the oaks were all bent91 by the wind from the sea.
"We are coming to the heath which they call the Black Heath," said Clémence Archignat.
"They live underneath92."
Véronique once more shrugged her shoulders:
"How do you know?"
"We know more than other people," said Gertrude. "They call us witches; and there's something in it. Maguennoc himself, who knew a great deal, used to ask our advice about anything that had to do with healing, lucky stones, the herbs you gather on St. John's Eve . . ."
"Or tradition too," continued Gertrude. "We know what's been said in the island for hundreds of years; and it's always been said that there was a whole town underneath, with streets and all, in which they used to live of old. And there are some left still, I've seen them myself."
Véronique did not reply.
"Yes, my sister and I saw one. Twice, when the June moon was six days old. He was dressed in white . . . and he was climbing the Great Oak to gather the sacred mistletoe . . . with a golden sickle94. The gold glittered in the moonlight. I saw it, I tell you, and others saw it too . . . . And he's not the only one. There are several of them left over from the old days to guard the treasure . . . . Yes, as I say, the treasure . . . . They say it's a stone which works miracles, which can make you die if you touch it and which makes you live if you lie down on it. That's all true, Maguennoc told us so, all perfectly95 true. They of old guard the stone, the God-Stone, and they are to sacrifice all of us this year . . . . yes, all of us, thirty dead people for the thirty coffins . . . ."
"Four women crucified," crooned the madwoman.
"And it will be soon. The sixth day of the moon is near at hand. We must be gone before they climb the Great Oak to gather the mistletoe. Look, you can see the Great Oak from here. It's in the wood on this side of the bridge. It stands out above the others."
"They are hiding behind it," said the madwoman, turning round in her wheel-barrow. "They are waiting for us."
"That'll do; and don't you stir . . . . As I was saying, you see the Great Oak . . . over there . . . beyond the end of the heath. It is . . . it is . . ."
She dropped the wheel-barrow, without finishing her sentence.
"Well?" asked Clémence. "What's the matter?"
"Something? What do you mean? They don't show themselves in broad daylight! You've gone cross-eyed."
They both looked for a moment and then went on again. Soon the Great Oak was out of sight.
The heath which they were now crossing was wild and rough, covered with stones lying flat like tombstones and all pointing in the same direction.
"It's their burying-ground," whispered Gertrude.
They said nothing more. Gertrude repeatedly had to stop and rest. Clémence had not the strength to push the wheel-barrow. They were both of them tottering97 on their legs; and they gazed into the distance with anxious eyes.
They went down a dip in the ground and up again. The path joined that which Véronique had taken with Honorine on the first day; and they entered the wood which preceded the bridge.
Presently the growing excitement of the sisters[Pg 105] Archignat made Véronique understand that they were approaching the Great Oak; and she saw it standing on a mound98 of earth and roots, bigger than the others and separated from them by wider intervals. She could not help thinking that it was possible for several men to hide behind that massive trunk and that perhaps several were hiding there now.
Notwithstanding their fears, the sisters had quickened their pace; and they kept their eyes turned from the fatal tree.
They left it behind. Véronique breathed more freely. All danger was passed; and she was just about to laugh at the sisters Archignat, when one of them, Clémence, spun99 on her heels and dropped with a moan.
At the same time something fell to the ground, something that had struck Clémence in the back. It was an axe100, a stone axe.
"Oh, the thunder-stone, the thunder-stone!" cried Gertrude.
She looked up for a second, as if, in accordance with the inveterate101 popular belief, she believed that the axe came from the sky and was an emanation of the thunder.
But, at that moment, the madwoman, who had got out of her barrow, leapt from the ground and fell head forward. Something else had whizzed through the air. The madwoman was writhing with pain. Gertrude and Véronique saw an arrow which had been driven through her shoulder and was still vibrating.
Then Gertrude fled screaming.
Véronique hesitated. Clémence and the mad woman were rolling about on the ground. The madwoman giggled102:
"Behind the oak! They're hiding . . . I see them."
Clémence stammered:
"Help! . . . Lift me up . . . carry me . . . I'm terrified!"
But another arrow whizzed past them and fell some distance farther.
Véronique now also took to her heels, urged not so much by panic, though this would have been excusable, as by the eager longing103 to find a weapon and defend herself. She remembered that in her father's study there was a glass case filled with guns and revolvers, all bearing the word "loaded," no doubt as a warning to François; and it was one of these that she wished to seize in order to face the enemy. She did not even turn round. She was not interested to know whether she was being pursued. She ran for the goal, the only profitable goal.
"The bridge . . . . We must burn it . . . . The petrol's there . . . ."
Véronique did not reply. Breaking down the bridge was a secondary matter and would even have been an obstacle to her plan of taking a gun and attacking the enemy.
But, when she reached the bridge, Gertrude whirled about in such a way that she almost fell down the precipice105. An arrow had struck her in the back.
"Help! Help!" she screamed. "Don't leave me!"
"I'm coming back," replied Véronique, who had not seen the arrow and thought that Gertrude had merely caught her foot in running. "I'm coming back, with two guns. You join me."
She imagined in her mind that, once they were both armed, they would go back to the wood and rescue the other sisters. Redoubling her efforts, therefore, she reached the wall of the estate, ran across the grass and went up to her father's study. Here she stopped to recover her breath; and, after she had taken the two guns, her heart beat so fast that she had to go back at a slower pace.
She was astonished at not meeting Gertrude, at not seeing her. She called her. No reply. And it was not till then that the thought occurred to her that Gertrude had been wounded like her sisters.
She once more broke into a run. But, when she came within sight of the bridge, she heard shrill106 cries pierce through the buzzing in her ears and, on coming into the open opposite the sharp ascent107 that led to the wood of the Great Oak, she saw . . .
What she saw rivetted her to the entrance to the bridge. On the other side, Gertrude was sprawling108 upon the ground, struggling, clutching at the roots, digging her nails into the grass and slowly, slowly, with an imperceptible and uninterrupted movement, moving along the slope.
And Véronique became aware that the unfortunate woman was fastened under the arms and round the waist by a cord which was hoisting109 her up, like a bound and helpless prey110, and which was pulled by invisible hands above.
Véronique raised one of the guns to her shoulder. But at what enemy was she to take aim? What enemy was she to fight? Who was hiding behind the trees and stones that crowned the hill like a rampart?
Gertrude slipped between those stones, between those trees. She had ceased screaming, no doubt she was exhausted and swooning. She disappeared from sight.
Véronique had not moved. She realized the futility111 of any venture or enterprise. By rushing into a contest in which she was beaten beforehand she would not be able to rescue the sisters Archignat and would merely offer herself to the conqueror112 as a new and final victim.
Besides, she was overcome with fear. Everything was happening in accordance with the ruthless logic113 of facts of which she did not grasp the meaning but which all seemed connected like the links of a chain. She was afraid, afraid of those beings, afraid of those ghosts, instinctively114 and unconsciously afraid, afraid like the sisters Archignat, like Honorine, like all the victims of the terrible scourge115.
She stooped, so as not to be seen from the Great Oak, and, bending forward and taking the shelter offered by some bramble-bushes, she reached the little hut of which the sisters Archignat had spoken, a sort of summer-house with a pointed116 roof and coloured tiles. Half the summer-house was filled with cans of petrol.
From here she overlooked the bridge, on which no one could step without being seen by her. But no one came down from the wood.
Night fell, a night of thick fog silvered by the moon which just allowed Véronique to see the opposite side.
After an hour, feeling a little reassured117, she made a first trip with two cans which she emptied on the outer beams of the bridge.
Ten times, with her ears pricked118 up, carrying her gun slung119 over her shoulder and prepared at any moment to defend herself, she repeated the journey. She poured the petrol a little at random120, groping her way and yet as far as possible selecting the places where her sense of touch seemed to tell her that the wood was most rotten.
She had a box of matches, the only one that she had found in the house. She took out a match and hesitated a moment, frightened at the thought of the great light it would make:
"Even so," she reflected, "if it could be seen from the mainland . . . But, with this fog . . ."
Suddenly she struck the match and at once lit a paper torch which she had prepared by soaking it in petrol.
A great flame blazed and burnt her fingers. Then she threw the paper in a pool of petrol which had formed in a hollow and fled back to the summer-house.
The fire flared121 up immediately and, at one flash, spread over the whole part which she had sprinkled. The cliffs on the two islands, the strip of granite that united them, the big trees around, the hill, the wood of the Great Oak and the sea at the bottom of the ravine: these were all lit up.
"They know where I am . . . . They are looking at the summer-house where I am hiding," thought Véronique, keeping her eyes fixed on the Great Oak.
But not a shadow passed through the wood. Not a sound of voices reached her ears. Those concealed122 above did not leave their impenetrable retreat.
In a few minutes, half the bridge collapsed, with a great crash and a gush123 of sparks. But the other half went on burning; and at every moment a piece of timber tumbled into the precipice, lighting124 up the depths of the night.
Each time that this happened, Véronique had a sense of relief and her overstrung nerves grew relaxed. A feeling of security crept over her and became more and more justified125 as the gulf126 between her and her enemies widened. Nevertheless she remained inside the summer-house and resolved to wait for the dawn in order to make sure that no communication was henceforth possible.
The fog increased. Everything was shrouded127 in darkness. About the middle of the night, she heard a sound on the other side, at the top of the hill, so far as she could judge. It was the sound of wood-cutters felling trees, the regular sound of an axe biting into branches which were finally removed by breaking.
Véronique had an idea, absurd though she knew it to be, that they were perhaps building a foot-bridge; and she clutched her gun resolutely128.
About an hour later, she seemed to hear moans and even a stifled cry, followed, for some time, by the rustle129 of leaves and the sound of steps coming and going. This ceased. Once more there was a great silence which seemed to absorb in space every stirring, every restless, every quivering, every living thing.
The numbness130 produced by the fatigue and hunger from which she was beginning to suffer left Véronique little power of thought. She remembered above all that, having failed to bring any provisions from the village, she had nothing to eat. She did not distress131 herself, for she was determined, as soon as the fog lifted—and this was bound to happen before long—to light bonfires with the cans of petrol. She reflected that the best place would be at the end of the island, at the spot where the dolmen stood.
But suddenly a dreadful thought struck her: had she not left her box of matches on the bridge? She felt in her pockets but could not find it. All search was in vain.
This also did not perturb132 her unduly133. For the time being, the feeling that she had escaped the attacks of the enemy filled her with such delight that it seemed to her that all the difficulties would disappear of their own accord.
The hours passed in this way, endlessly long hours, which the penetrating134 fog and the cold made more painful as the morning approached.
Then a faint gleam overspread the sky. Things emerged from the gloom and assumed their actual forms. And Véronique now saw that the bridge had collapsed throughout its length. An interval45 of fifty yards separated the two islands, which were only joined below by the sharp, pointed, inaccessible135 ridge87 of the cliff.
She was saved.
But, on raising her eyes to the hill opposite, she saw, right at the top of the slope, a sight that made her utter a cry of horror. Three of the nearest trees of those which crowned the hill and belonged to the wood of the Great Oak had been stripped of their lower branches. And, on the three bare trunks, with their arms strained backward, with their legs bound, under the tatters of their skirts, and with ropes drawn tight beneath their livid faces, half-hidden by the black bows of their caps, hung the three sisters Archignat.
They were crucified.
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1
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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2
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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3
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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4
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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5
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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7
dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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9
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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10
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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11
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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12
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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13
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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14
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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15
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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16
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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17
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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18
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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19
ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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20
promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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21
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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22
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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23
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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24
illegible
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| adj.难以辨认的，字迹模糊的 | |
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25
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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26
slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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27
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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28
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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29
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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30
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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31
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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32
inadequately
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| ad.不够地；不够好地 | |
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33
obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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34
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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35
effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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36
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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37
coffins
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| n.棺材( coffin的名词复数 )；使某人早亡[死，完蛋，垮台等]之物 | |
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38
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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39
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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40
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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41
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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42
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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43
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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44
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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45
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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46
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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47
nave
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| n.教堂的中部；本堂 | |
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48
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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49
thronging
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的现在分词 ) | |
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50
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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51
perennial
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| adj.终年的；长久的 | |
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52
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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53
irises
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| n.虹( iris的名词复数 )；虹膜；虹彩；鸢尾（花） | |
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54
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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55
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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56
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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57
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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58
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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59
pendulums
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| n.摆，钟摆( pendulum的名词复数 )；摇摆不定的事态（或局面） | |
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60
quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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61
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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62
clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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63
retracing
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| v.折回( retrace的现在分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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64
plumb
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| adv.精确地，完全地；v.了解意义，测水深 | |
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65
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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66
implements
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| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
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67
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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68
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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69
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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70
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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71
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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72
raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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73
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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74
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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75
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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76
syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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77
stammering
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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78
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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79
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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80
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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81
superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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82
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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84
accomplices
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| 从犯，帮凶，同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
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85
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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86
perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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87
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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88
repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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89
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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90
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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91
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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92
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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93
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
sickle
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| n.镰刀 | |
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95
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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96
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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97
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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98
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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99
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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100
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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101
inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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102
giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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104
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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105
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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106
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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107
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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108
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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109
hoisting
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| 起重，提升 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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111
futility
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| n.无用 | |
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conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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113
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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114
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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115
scourge
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| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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118
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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119
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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120
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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122
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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gush
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| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
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124
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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127
shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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128
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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129
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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numbness
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| n.无感觉，麻木，惊呆 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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perturb
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| v.使不安，烦扰，扰乱，使紊乱 | |
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133
unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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134
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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