He drew nearer still.  And within her now there raged a frightful battle.  How long did it last—­days? years?  Doubtless but a few seconds.  She was still resolved that she would stop him as he passed, certain as she felt that she would conquer her horrible thoughts when the moment came for the decisive gesture.  And yet those thoughts invaded her, became materialized within her, like some physical craving, thirst or hunger.  She hungered for that finish, hungered to the point of suffering, seized by one of those sudden desperate longings which beget crime; such as when a passer-by is despoiled and throttled at the corner of a street.  It seemed to her that if she could not satisfy her craving she herself must lose her life.  A consuming passion, a mad desire for that man’s annihilation filled her as she saw him approach.  She could now see him still more plainly and the sight of him exasperated her.  His forehead, his eyes, his lips tortured her like some hateful spectacle.  Another step, yet one more, then another, and he would be before her.  Yes, yet another step, and she was already stretching out her hand in readiness to stop him as soon as he should brush past.

He came along.  What was it that happened?  O God!  When he was there, so absorbed in his thoughts that he brushed against her without feeling her, she turned to stone.  Her hand became icy cold, she could not lift it, it hung too heavily from her arm.  And amid her scorching fever a great cold shudder came upon her, immobilizing and stupefying her, while she was deafened by the clamorous voice rising from the depths of her being.  All demur was swept away; the craving for that death remained intense, invincible, beneath the imperious stubborn call of the inner voice which robbed her of the power of will and action.  He would be dead and he would never possess the works.  And therefore, standing stiff and breathless against the wall, she did not stop him.  She could hear his light breathing, she could discern his profile, then the nape of his neck.  He had passed.  Another step, another step!  And yet if she had raised a call she might still have changed the course of destiny even at that last moment.  She fancied that she had some such intention, but she was clenching her teeth tightly enough to break them.  And he, Blaise, took yet a further step, still advancing quietly and confidently over that friendly ground, without even a glance before him, absorbed as he was in thoughts of his work.  And the ground failed him, and there was a loud, terrible cry, a sudden gust following the fall, and a dull crash down below in the depths of the black darkness.