Faced with this blaze of dreams and desires, I felt so old, so cold, so wise .. .

At Coudray I knocked on the dining-room window and said I'd got lost. The old man couldn't refuse me a room for the night, even though he knows I've wandered around these woods since I was a child. As for dinner, I didn't stand on ceremony. I went into the kitchen and asked the maid for a bowl of soup. She gave me a large hunk of cheese and some crusty bread to go with it. I took it back to the fire to eat. There was no light in the room apart from the flames in the hearth to save on electricity.

I asked where Marc Ohnet was.

"Gone."

"Did he have supper with you?"

"Yes," the old man grumbled.

"Do you see him often?"

He pretended not to hear. His wife was holding some embroidery, but she wasn't working on it. He barked at her, "Don't tire yourself out, now."

"I can't sew when there's no light," she replied, her voice quiet and distracted.

"Was anyone home at the Moulin-Neuf?" she asked, turning towards me.

"I don't know. I didn't go there. It was so dark in the woods that I never made it out. I was afraid of falling into the lake."

"Is there a lake in the woods?" she murmured and, as I was looking at her, a smile played on her lips, a mocking smile of secret joy. Then she threw her embroidery down on the table and sat very still, her hands crossed over her knees, her head lowered.

The maid came in. "I've made up Monsieur's bed," she said to me.

It seemed old Declos had fallen asleep; for a long time he sat without speaking, without moving, his mouth hanging open; his hollow cheeks and pallid skin made him look like a corpse.

"I've lit a fire in your room," the maid continued. "The nights are cold."

She broke off: Brigitte had leapt up and seemed extraordinarily perturbed. We looked at her, confused.

"Didn't you hear that?" she asked after a moment. "No. What's wrong?"

"I don't know . . . I just . . . I must have been wrong . . . I thought I heard someone cry out."

I listened, but there was nothing, nothing but the almost oppressive silence of our countryside at night; even the wind had died down.

"I can't hear a thing," I said.

The maid went out. I didn't go up to bed; I was watching Brigitte. She was trembling and had gone over to the fire.