At last we paused. The gondolier said, "This is the palace." I was struck aghast. It flared with lights, that from the windows gleamed And trickled down into the black canal. "Stop! stop!" I cried; "'tis some mistake. Why are these lights? This palace is not his. He owns no palace." "Pardon," answered he, "I fancied the signora wished to see The marriage festa--and all Venice knows The bride receives to-night." "What bride, whose bride?" I asked, impatient. "Count Alberti's bride, Whose else?" he answered, with a shrug. My heart, From its glad, singing height, dropped like a lark Shot dead, at these few words. The whole world reeled, And for a moment I was crushed and stunned. Then came the wild revulsion of despair; Then, calm more dreadful than the fiercest pain. "Row me to the steps," I said. I leaped On their wet edge, and stared in at the door Where all was hurry, rush, and flare of light. My eyes ran, lightning, zigzag, through the crowd In search of him--he was not there. Ah, God! I breathed. He was not there! I inly cursed My unbelief, and turned me round to go. There was a sudden murmur near the door, And I beheld him--walking at her side. Oh! cursed be the hour I saw that sight, And cursed be the place! I saw those eyes That used to look such passion into mine Turned with the selfsame look to other eyes, Yes, light blue eyes, that upward gazed at him. I could not bear their bliss. I scarcely knew what happened then; I knew I felt for the stiletto in my vest With purpose that was half mechanical, As if a demon used my hand for his. I felt the red blood singing through my brain, I struck--before me, at my feet, she fell. Who was the queen then? Ah! your rank and wealth, Your pearls and splendors--what did they avail Against the sharp stiletto's little point? You should have thought of that before you dared-- You had all the world beside--to steal The only treasure that the Roman girl e'er had. You will not smile again as then you smiled. Thank God, you'll never smile again for him! I was avenged, avenged, until I saw The dreadful look he gave me as he turned From her dead face and looked in mine. Ah, God! It haunts me, scares me, will not let me sleep. When will he come and tell me he forgives And loves me still? Oh, bid him come, Come quickly, come and let me die in peace. I could not help it; I was mad; But I repent, I suffer; he at least Should pity and forgive. Oh, make him come And say he loves me, and then let me die. I shall be ready then to die; but now I cannot think of God; my heart is hell, Until I know he loves me still. JEAN VALJEAN AND THE GOOD BISHOP[78] VICTOR HUGO