BOOK EIGHTH.
CHAPTER 4. LASCIATE OGNI SPERANZA--LEAVE ALL HOPE BEHIND, YE WHO ENTER HERE.
(continued)
The priest appeared to cast his eyes around the dungeon from beneath
his cowl.
"Without light! without fire! in the water! it is horrible!"
"Yes," she replied, with the bewildered air which unhappiness
had given her. "The day belongs to every one, why do
they give me only night?"
"Do you know," resumed the priest, after a fresh silence,
"why you are here?"
"I thought I knew once," she said, passing her thin fingers
over her eyelids, as though to aid her memory, "but I know
no longer."
All at once she began to weep like a child.
"I should like to get away from here, sir. I am cold, I am
afraid, and there are creatures which crawl over my body."
"Well, follow me."
So saying, the priest took her arm. The unhappy girl was
frozen to her very soul. Yet that hand produced an impression
of cold upon her.
"Oh!" she murmured, "'tis the icy hand of death. Who are you?"
The priest threw back his cowl; she looked. It was the
sinister visage which had so long pursued her; that demon's
head which had appeared at la Falourdel's, above the head of
her adored Phoebus; that eye which she last had seen glittering
beside a dagger.
This apparition, always so fatal for her, and which had thus
driven her on from misfortune to misfortune, even to torture,
roused her from her stupor. It seemed to her that the sort of
veil which had lain thick upon her memory was rent away.
All the details of her melancholy adventure, from the nocturnal
scene at la Falourdel's to her condemnation to the Tournelle,
recurred to her memory, no longer vague and confused
as heretofore, but distinct, harsh, clear, palpitating, terrible.
These souvenirs, half effaced and almost obliterated by
excess of suffering, were revived by the sombre figure which
stood before her, as the approach of fire causes letters traced
upon white paper with invisible ink, to start out perfectly
fresh. It seemed to her that all the wounds of her heart
opened and bled simultaneously.
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