It looked very peaceful; and it could give peace. He thought, oh! what
a blessing; to be quit of rage, jealousy, despair, and life, all in a
minute!
Yet that was a sordid death for a soldier to die, who had seen great
battles. Could he not die more nobly than that? With this he suddenly
felt in his pocket; and there sure enough fate had placed his pistols.
He had put them into this coat; and he had not worn this coat until
to-day. He had armed himself unconsciously. "Ah!" said he; "it is to be;
all these things are preordained." (This notion of fate has strengthened
many a fatal resolution.) Then he had a cruel regret. To die without a
word; a parting word. Then he thought to himself, it was best so; for
perhaps he should have taken her with him.
"Sir! colonel!" uttered a solemn voice behind him.
Absorbed and strung up to desperation as he was, this voice seemed
unnaturally loud, and discordant with Camille's mood; a sudden trumpet
from the world of small things.
It was Picard, the notary.
"Can you tell me where Madame Raynal is?"
"No. At the chateau, I suppose.
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