But while I was there in a maze, and
watched the figure in a, transport of delight, there occurred, all
at once, something wonderful, something dreadful. The figure rose
from its knees, dropped its arms, turned itself around, and advanced
straight toward me. The eyes, which had been turned so purely
heavenward before, were directed to me, with a look which pierced my
breast like the thrust of a knife. I recognized that look-that sad,
reproachful glance. It was the same that Marie Antoinette gave me,
when she stood on the scaffold. I was sitting in the front row of
the knitters, and I was just going to make the double stitch for her
in my stocking, when that look met me; those great, sad eyes were
turned toward me, and I felt that she had recognized me, and her
eyes bored into my breast, and followed me even after the axe had
taken off her head. The eyes did not fall into the basket, they were
not buried, bat they remain in my breast; they have been piercing me
ever since, and burning me like glowing coals. But that night I saw
them again, as in life--those dreadful eyes; and as the figure
advanced toward me, it raised its hand and threatened me, and its
eyes spoke to me, and it seemed as if a curse of God were going
through my brain, for those eyes said to me--'Murder!'--spoke it so
loudly, so horribly, that it appeared as if my head would burst, and
I could not cry, and could not move, and had to look at it, till, at
last, I became unconscious.
Pages:
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687