He had readily
believed in some hidden flaw in Spieghalter's apparatus; he had not
been surprised by the incompetence and failure of science and of fire;
but the flexibility of the skin as he handled it, taken with its
stubbornness when all means of destruction that man possesses had been
brought to bear upon it in vain--these things terrified him. The
incontrovertible fact made him dizzy.
"I am mad," he muttered. "I have had no food since the morning, and
yet I am neither hungry nor thirsty, and there is a fire in my breast
that burns me."
He put back the skin in the frame where it had been enclosed but
lately, drew a line in red ink about the actual configuration of the
talisman, and seated himself in his armchair.
"Eight o'clock already!" he exclaimed. "To-day has gone like a dream."
He leaned his elbow on the arm of the chair, propped his head with his
left hand, and so remained, lost in secret dark reflections and
consuming thoughts that men condemned to die bear away with them.
"O Pauline!" he cried. "Poor child! there are gulfs that love can
never traverse, despite the strength of his wings."
Just then he very distinctly heard a smothered sigh, and knew by one
of the most tender privileges of passionate love that it was Pauline's
breathing.
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