Who can describe the horror of conscience to which Matthias André was a prey that night? He remained after the departure of Berthier, for some hours half stupefied, looking at the money which he held in his hand; then he tied it up in a piece of rag, and placed it in his bosom; but it was too heavy there, it seemed to weigh him down, so he fastened it to the belt of his blouse, which he now put on. To distract his mind, he began to replace in the boxes the clothes he had drawn from them, but, as he huddled them in, unfolded, they would not all go in. In the dusk, the garments which were not thus disposed of looked like bodies of human beings waiting to be buried. He threw out all the clothes from the trunks again, and began to fold them, but he did this work clumsily, and there remained still one of Gabrielle’s dresses uncoffered. The sight of this distressed him, it reminded him of his daughter too painfully, so he hid it under the table. Then he could not resist the desire to peer at it where it lay, and the fancy came upon him that she lay there dead, and that he had killed her; so he fled up the ladder into his loft, and cast himself upon his bed. But there was no rest there. The transactions of that evening haunted him. He tried to calculate what had best be done with the money; but no! all he could think of was that this was the price of his child’s honour and happiness. Remembering that he had not taken any supper, he descended the ladder and sought in the dark for a potato pasty; but when he had found it he could not eat it, for he considered that it had been made by _her_ fingers. He tried to uncork a bottle of wine, but could not find the screw, so he broke the neck, and drank from it thus; the broken glass cut his lips, for his hand shook. Gabrielle’s old gown under the table he could not see, it was too dark, but he was constrained by a frenzied curiosity to creep towards it, and feel if it were there. Yes; he felt it, and he shrank from the touch. The moon shone in at his bedroom window. The light distressed him, when he returned to his couch; so he tried to block up the window by erecting his coat against it, supported by a pitchfork and a broom. It remained thus for just five minutes, and then the structure gave way, and the moonlight flowed in again. André could bear the house no longer. He again descended the ladder, stole past the table, and opening his door, went outside. He took the path across the foot-bridge and entered the forest. He resolved to ascend the hill, and see the outside of the château in which lay his child. The way was dark, the shadows of the pines and beech-trees obscured it, but the wretched man knew it well, and he walked along it, trembling with fear. He heard voices in the forest, he saw faces peeping from behind the tree-boles. The rustle of birds in the pine-tops made him start; but he held on his way.