I had it in my head to speak
with him, but could not. So the early hours, with devotions which I went
through in a dream, wore on in horrible suspense, and breakfast came.
We sat at the long table, five on a side, the Director--looking red-eyed
and weary from the evening's unaccustomed dissipation--sitting at the
head. Below us stood Brother Albert, reading from Tertullian in a dry,
monotonous chant. I recall, as I write, how I found a certain comfort in
those splendid, sonorous Latin sentences, though I was conscious of not
comprehending a word. I dreaded the moment they should end. Edouard sat
beside me. We had not exchanged a word during the morning. How could I
speak? What should I say? I was in a nervous flutter, like unto those
who watch the final pinioning of a criminal whose guillotine is awaiting
him. I could not keep my eyes from the fair face beside me, with its
delicately-cut profile, made all the more cameo-like by its pallid
whiteness. The lips were tightly compressed. I could see askant that the
tiny nostrils were quivering with excitement. All else was impassive on
Edouard's face. We two sat waiting for the axe to fall.
It is as distinct as a nightmare to me. Abonus came in with his great
server laden with victuals. He stumbled as he approached. He too was
excited. He drew near, and stood behind me.
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