He
had killed the prince and could recall nothing, or next to
nothing, that had occurred since the deed. Almost before he knew
what he was doing he had locked his door with a double turn of the
key and was pushing the furniture against it, the table, the
chairs, everything that he could move. It seemed to him that he
could already hear upon the winding stair the clank of the gens
d'armes' sabres as they came to get him. He looked wildly round
the room to see whether there was anything that could lead to
discovery. The unwonted exertion, however, had restored the
circulation of his blood, and with it arose an indistinct memory
of the sense of triumph he had felt when he had last entered the
chamber. He asked himself how he could have rejoiced over the
deed, unless he had unconsciously taken steps for his own safety.
The body must have been found long ago.
Very gradually there rose before him the vision of the scene in
the study, when he had been summoned thither by the two servants,
the dead prince stretched on the table, the pale faces, the
prefect, Donna Faustina's voice, a series of questions asked in a
metallic, pitiless tone. He had not been drunk, therefore, when
they had sent for him. And yet, he knew that he had not been
sober.
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