He wished to escape; but his feet
seemed fixed to the ground. He tried at least to close his eyes; he
could not. A power unknown and irresistible compelled him to look.
Then Albert again cried out: "I am innocent; the guilty one is----" He
pronounced a name; the crowd repeated this name, and he alone did not
catch what it was. At last the head of the condemned man fell.
M. Tabaret uttered a loud cry, and awoke in a cold perspiration. It took
him some time to convince himself that nothing was real of what he had
just heard and seen, and that he was actually in his own house, in
his own bed. It was only a dream! But dreams sometimes are, they say,
warnings from heaven. His imagination was so struck with what had just
happened that he made unheard of efforts to recall the name pronounced
by Albert. Not succeeding, he got up and lighted his candle. The
darkness made him afraid, the night was full of phantoms. It was no
longer with him a question of sleep. Beset with these anxieties, he
accused himself most severely, and harshly reproached himself for the
occupation he had until then so delighted in. Poor humanity!
He was evidently stark mad the day when he first had the idea of seeking
employment in the Rue de Jerusalem.
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