The Beast Within by Émile Zola Read Free Book Online

harder as if he were trying to pound the words into her body.
    ‘You’re just an old man’s cast-off! You lousy bitch! You slept with him! ... Admit it ... You slept with him!’
    He was so beside himself with rage that he was choking. He could no longer speak; all that came from his mouth were incoherent gasps of breath. He became aware of her voice as she cringed beneath the assault. ‘No!’ she was shouting, ‘I didn’t sleep with him.’ How could she possibly convince him? All she could do was deny it, or he would kill her. But hearing her continue to lie to him simply angered him all the more.
    ‘Admit you slept with him,’ he cried.
    ‘No! No!’ she wept.
    He had seized hold of her again and had lifted her up from the bed to stop her rolling over on to the cover to hide her face. He forced her to look at him.
    ‘Admit you slept with him.’
    She managed to escape his grasp and get away from him. She ran for the door, but he was after her like a shot. He raised his fist to strike her again. He pushed her towards the table and landed her a single, savage blow that sent her reeling to the floor. He flung himself down beside her and grabbed her by the hair to pin her down. They lay on the floor, face to face, without moving. In the dreadful silence that ensued came the sounds of singing and laughter from the room below. The Dauvergne girls were playing the piano and obviously enjoying themselves. Fortunately it had drowned the noise of the fight. Claire was singing children’s nursery rhymes and Sophie was accompanying her on the piano with great gusto.
    ‘Admit you slept with him!’
    She was too frightened to go on denying it. She said nothing.
    ‘Admit it! Admit you slept with him, damn you, or I’ll slit your throat!’
    She knew he meant it; she could tell from the look in his eyes. As she fell down, she had noticed the knife. It was lying on the table, open. She had seen the glint of the blade and she thought he was trying to reach it. She no longer had the courage to face up to him. She was beyond caring — about herself or about anything. She just wanted to get it over and done with.
    ‘All right then, it’s true. I did. Now let me go.’
    What happened next was dreadful. The admission, which he had been trying with such violence to force from her, left him feeling stunned. It was impossible, monstrous. He could conceive of nothing more disgusting. He seized her head and banged it against the leg of the table. She struggled to get away from him but he dragged her across the floor by her hair, scattering chairs all round the room. Every time she tried to stand up he struck her with his fist and sent her flying to the floor. His breath came in short, sharp bursts. His teeth were clenched; he was like a crazed animal, demented. They crashed against the table and nearly overturned the stove. There were smears of blood and strands of hair stuck to the corner of the sideboard. They staggered back towards the bed, gasping for breath, dazed and sickened by the force of his onslaught. They were both exhausted, he from striking her and she from the beating he had inflicted. Séverine lay slumped on the floor. Roubaud crouched behind her, still holding her by the shoulders. The blood pounded in their ears. From below rose the sound of music and the girls’ happy laughter.
    Roubaud pulled Séverine from the floor and propped her against the side of the bed. He knelt in front of her, still holding her down. Then, when he was at last able to speak, came a barrage of questions. His desire to know the truth was insatiable. He was no longer beating her, but this was another form of torture.
    ‘So you slept with him, you bitch! Say it! You slept with him! An old man like him! How old were you? Tell me! I bet you were no more than a girl. A little schoolgirl.’
    She suddenly burst into tears and could not speak for crying.
    ‘Tell me, damn you! I bet you weren’t even ten when he started playing around with