He replaced the pillow under her head. She looked peaceful in death. There was no sign on her face of the violence of her end.
His thrill of triumph passed its peak and he began to think about the danger of discovery. He moved the chair from the door. He was not sure exactly where it had stood before. Surely no one would notice?
Looking around for anything that might cause suspicion, he saw that the bedclothes were unusually rumpled, so he straightened them over Odette’s body.
Then he did not know what to do.
He wanted to leave the room, but he had promised Alain that he would stay, and he would look guilty if he fled. Better to feign innocence. But he could hardly bear to be in the room with the corpse. He had hated Odette, and he was glad she was dead, but he had committed a terrible sin.
He realized that God would know what he had done even if no one else did. He had murdered his wife. How would he obtain forgiveness for such a sin?
Her eyes were still open. He was afraid to look at them for fear they would look back. He would have liked to close them, but he dreaded to touch the corpse.
He tried to pull himself together. Father Moineau had always assured him of forgiveness, for he was doing God’s work. Did not the same apply here? No, of course not. This had been an act of utter selfishness. He had no excuse.
He felt doomed. His hands were shaking, he saw – the hands that had held the pillow over Odette’s face so firmly that she had suffocated. He sat on a bench by the window and stared out, so that he did not have to look at Odette; but then he had to turn around every few seconds to assure himself that she was lying still, for he could not help imagining her corpse sitting up in bed, turning its sightless face towards him, pointing an accusing finger, and silently mouthing the wordsHe murdered me.
At last the door opened and Alain came in. Pierre suffered a moment of pure panic, and almost shoutedIt was me, I killed her!Then his usual calm returned. ‘Hush,’ he said, though Alain had made little noise. ‘She’s sleeping.’
‘No, she’s not,’ said Alain. ‘Her eyes are open.’ He frowned. ‘You straightened the bedclothes.’
‘They were a bit rumpled.’
Alain’s voice showed faint surprise. ‘That was nice of you.’ Then he frowned again. ‘Why did you move the chair?’
Pierre was dismayed that Alain had noticed these trivial details. He could not think of an innocent reason for moving the chair, so he resorted to denial. ‘It’s where it always was.’
Alain looked puzzled but did not persist. He put a bottle on the little side table, and gave Pierre a handful of coins in change. He spoke to the dead body. ‘I got your medicine, Mother,’ he said. ‘You can have some right away. It has to be mixed with water or wine.’
Pierre wanted to scream at him:Look at her – she’s dead!
There was a jug of wine and a cup on the side table. Alain poured some of the potion into the cup, added wine from the jug, and stirred the mixture with a knife. Then – at last – he approached the bed. ‘Let’s get you sitting up,’ he said. Then he looked hard at her and frowned. ‘Mother?’ His voice fell to a whisper. ‘Blessed Mary, no!’ He dropped the cup to the floor and the potion spilled oleaginously across the tiles.
Pierre watched him with horrid fascination. After a frozen moment of shock, Alain bounded forward and bent over the still form. ‘Mother!’ he shouted, as if a louder voice could bring her back.
Pierre said: ‘Is something wrong?’
Alain grabbed Odette by the shoulders and lifted her. Her head flopped back lifelessly.
Pierre moved to the bed, judiciously standing on the side opposite Alain, out of striking range. He was not afraid of Alain physically – it was the other way around – but it would be better to avoid a brawl. ‘What’s the matter?’ he said.
Alain stared at him in hatred. ‘What have you done?’
‘Nothing but watch over her,’ Pierre said. ‘But she seems to be unconscious.’
Alain laid her gently back on the bed, with her head on the pillow that had killed her. He touched her chest, feeling for a heartbeat; then her neck, for a pulse. Finally, he put his cheek next to her nose, to see if there was any breath. He stifled a sob. ‘She’s dead.’
‘Are you sure?’ Pierre touched her chest himself, then nodded sadly. ‘How terrible,’ he said. ‘And we thought she was recovering.’
‘She was! You killed her, you devil.’
‘You’re very upset, Alain.’
‘I don’t know what you did, but you killed her.’
Pierre stepped to the door and shouted for a servant. ‘In here! Anybody! Quickly!’
Alain said: ‘I’m going to kill you.’
