The Beast Within by Émile Zola Read Free Book Online Page B

possible! It can’t be true!’
    He shook her violently.
    ‘Why did you marry me, you bitch? Why did you lie to me, damn you? There are women locked up in prison with less on their conscience than you! You hated me, didn’t you? You never loved me, did you? Why did you marry me? Tell me!’
    She waved a hand vaguely. How could she answer him? Just then she hardly knew anything.
    She had been happy to marry him at the time and she had hoped it would enable her to get away from Grandmorin. There were all sorts of things that you didn’t particularly want to do, but that you did all the same, because they seemed the most sensible at the time. No, she didn’t love him. What she refrained from telling him, though, was that, had it not been for this business with Grandmorin, she would never have agreed to marry him at all.
    ‘He wanted to fix you up with a husband, didn’t he? And he found a right mug! He wanted to set things up so that he could carry on seeing you! And he has carried on seeing you, hasn’t he? You’ve been there twice. That’s what he wanted you for, wasn’t it?’
    Once again she nodded.
    ‘And that’s why he was inviting you again this time, wasn’t it? You’d have gone on seeing him for ever, you dirty bitch! For ever and ever! I’ll strangle you!’
    His hands were already clenched and reaching out to grab her by the throat. At last she managed to find her voice.
    ‘You’re not being fair,’ she said. ‘I was the one who said I didn’t want to go. It was you who kept on trying to make me — remember? I had to get annoyed with you to make you shut up. I’ve had enough of him. It’s over. Couldn’t you see? It’s finished. I never want anything more to do with him! Never!’
    He sensed she was telling the truth, but it gave him no comfort. What had taken place between this man and her could not be altered. It remained, like a dagger planted in his chest, a searing pain that would not go away. He was powerless to undo what had been done, and it was an agony to him. He had still not taken his hands from her. He put his face up to hers, peering into her eyes as if mesmerized, drawn like an insect to probe the truth of her confession from the blood that pulsed through the tiny blue veins. He spoke quietly, as someone in a dream, someone obsessed.
    ‘At La Croix-de-Maufras! The red bedroom! I remember it. The window looks out on to the railway. The bed’s directly opposite. That’s where he ... No wonder he says he’s going to leave the place to you. You’ve earned it! He got a good bargain, putting your savings into the bank for you and giving you a dowry! A judge, worth millions! So respected! So learned! So high up! I’m not surprised he managed to turn a few heads! But what if it turned out he was your father? 16 Tell me that.’
    With an almighty effort Séverine pulled herself to her feet and, despite the pitifully bruised and battered condition she was in, angrily pushed Roubaud away from her.
    ‘Never!’ she shouted angrily. ‘Never say that! Beat me! Kill me! Do what you like with me! But never say that; it’s a lie!’
    Roubaud still held on to her by one hand.
    ‘You must know something about it,’ he said. ‘You’re only getting so worked up because you think it might be true.’
    She pulled her hand away from him and as she did so he felt the ring, the little snake with the ruby head that by now he had completely forgotten about. He tore it from her finger and in a renewed access of fury crushed it with his heel on the floor. He then walked up and down the room, saying nothing, stunned. Séverine collapsed on to the edge of the bed and sat watching him with big, frightened eyes. The terrible silence continued.
    Roubaud’s fury had not abated; there would be a brief lull, but each time it came flooding back stronger than ever, as if he were drunk — wave upon wave of anger sweeping through him, making his head reel and leaving him dazed. He was no longer himself.