nightingales.

A few moments afterwards M. and Madame de la R---- had disappeared into

their bedroom, and the half-opened curtain was closed. I stretched

myself, fully dressed as I was, upon the sofa, and this gentle nest

disturbed by me subsided into its graceful silence.

One can sleep on the eve of a battle between two armies, but on the eve

of a battle between citizens there can be no sleep. I counted each hour

as it sounded from a neighboring church; throughout the night there

passed down the street, which was beneath the windows of the room where I

was lying, carriages which were fleeing from Paris. They succeeded each

other rapidly and hurriedly, one might have imagined it was the exit from

a ball. Not being able to sleep, I got up. I had slightly parted the

muslin curtains of a window, and I tried to look outside; the darkness

was complete. No stars, clouds were flying by with the turbulent violence

of a winter night. A melancholy wind howled. This wind of clouds

resembled the wind of events.

I watched the sleeping baby. I waited for dawn. It came. M. de la R----

had explained at my request in what manner I could go out without

disturbing any one. I kissed the child's forehead, and left the room. I

went downstairs, closing the doors behind me as gently as I could, so

not to wake Madame de la R----. I opened the iron door and went out into

the street. It was deserted, the shops were still shut, and a milkwoman,

with her donkey by her side, was quietly arranging her cans on the

pavement.

219

The History of a Crime