My anxiety tightened its circle little by little, and began to oppress my head and heart. Perhaps something had happened to her. Perhaps she was injured, ill, dead. Perhaps a messenger would arrive with the news of some dreadful accident. Perhaps the daylight would find me with the same uncertainty and with the same fears. The idea that Marguerite was perhaps unfaithful to me at the very moment when I waited for her in terror at her absence did not return to my mind. There must be some cause, independent of her will, to keep her away from me, and the more I thought, the more convinced I was that this cause could only be some mishap or other. O vanity of man, coming back to us in every form! One o’clock struck. I said to myself that I would wait another hour, but that at two o’clock, if Marguerite had not returned, I would set out for Paris. Meanwhile I looked about for a book, for I dared not think. Manon Lescaut was open on the table. It seemed to me that here and there the pages were wet as if with tears. I turned the leaves over and then closed the book, for the letters seemed to me void of meaning through the veil of my doubts. Time went slowly. The sky was covered with clouds. An autumn rain lashed the windows. The empty bed seemed at moments to assume the aspect of a tomb. I was afraid. I opened the door. I listened, and heard nothing but the voice of the wind in the trees. Not a vehicle was to be seen on the road. The half hour sounded sadly from the church tower. I began to fear lest someone should enter. It seemed to me that only a disaster could come at that hour and under that sombre sky. Two o’clock struck. I still waited a little. Only the sound of the bell troubled the silence with its monotonous and rhythmical stroke. At last I left the room, where every object had assumed that melancholy aspect which the restless solitude of the heart gives to all its surroundings. In the next room I found Nanine sleeping over her work. At the sound of the door, she awoke and asked if her mistress had come in. “No; but if she comes in, tell her that I was so anxious that I had to go to Paris.” “At this hour?” “Yes. “But how? You won’t find a carriage.” “I will walk.” “But it is raining.” “No matter.” “But madame will be coming back, or if she doesn’t come it will be time enough in the morning to go and see what has kept her. You will be murdered on the way.” “There is no danger, my dear Nanine; I will see you to-morrow.” The good girl went and got me a cloak, put it over my shoulders, and offered to wake up Mme. Arnould to see if a vehicle could be obtained; but I would hear of nothing, convinced as I was that I should lose, in a perhaps fruitless inquiry, more time than I should take to cover half the road. Besides, I felt the need of air and physical fatigue in order to cool down the over-excitement which possessed me.