Thérèse remembered the scene with her father, by Aunt Clara’s bed. The room was lit up by a wood fire; none of them wanted a lamp. In her monotonous childish voice she delivered a lesson, the lesson that she went over again and again during her sleepless nights. “I met a man on the road who did not come from Argelouse, and who said to me that since I was sending some one to Darquey’s, he hoped I would not mind sending his prescriptions too: he owed money to Darquey and did not want to go to the shop.... He promised to come to the house for the medicine, but he did not tell me his name nor his address....” “Try to think of something else, Thérèse, for God’s sake, for the sake of the family: wretched woman, try to think of something else.” Old Larroque repeated his adjurations with obstinate emphasis; the deaf woman, half raised upon her pillows, and feeling that a mortal menace was weighing on Thérèse, groaned out: “What is he saying to you? What do they want you to do? Why are they hurting you?” She had found enough strength to smile at her aunt and hold her hand, while, like a little girl at her catechism, she recited: “It was a man on the road: it was too dark for me to see his face; he did not say what farm he belonged to....” He had come another evening for the medicine; but unfortunately no one in the house had seen his face. CHAPTER IX Saint Clair, at last. No one recognised Thérèse as she got out of the carriage. While Balion was giving up her tickets she went round outside the station through some stacks of timber and got on to the road where the carriage was waiting. This carriage had become her refuge; along that jolting road she was no longer afraid of meeting any one. Her whole story, so carefully constructed, collapsed: nothing remained of the confession she had prepared. No; she had nothing to say in her defence, not even a reason to give: the simplest thing would be to say nothing, or merely answer questions. What had she to fear? That night would pass like all the rest: the sun would rise to-morrow: she was sure all would be well whatever happened. And nothing could be worse than that indifference, that utter apathy that cut her off from the world and from her very existence. It was truly death in life: she had tasted death as far as a living woman may.