They led me away; I allowed them to put me into the carriage like a thing without strength or motion. The excitement of anger was succeeded by an icy calmness; I had neither memory, thought nor plans; I was annihilated; I would have liked to stop, throw myself on the ground and lie there for ever. I felt no remorse, I had not even the consciousness of my crime; the thought that I was a murderer had not yet had time to fix itself in my mind; I felt no connection whatever with the deed that I had done, and asked myself if it was I, Edgar de Meilhan, who had killed Raymond! It seemed as if I had been only a looker-on. As to Irene, the innocent cause of this horrible catastrophe, I scarcely thought of her; she only appeared to me a faint phantom seen in another existence! My love, my longings, my jealousy had all vanished. One drop of Raymond's warm blood had stilled my mad vehemence. She is dead, poor darling, it is the only happiness that I could wish her; her death lessens my despair. If she lived, no torture, no penance could be fierce enough to expiate my crime! No hermit of the desert would lash his quivering flesh more pitilessly than I! Rest in peace, dear Louise, for you will always be Louise to me, even in heaven, which I shall never reach, for I have killed my brother and belong to the race of Cain; I do not pity thee, for thou hast clasped in thy arms the dream of thy heart. Thou hast been happy; and happiness is a crime punishable on earth by death, as is genius and divinity.