He foresaw, with horror, the scaffold, as one sees the depth of the
abyss by the lightning flashes.
"I must save my life," he thought; "but how?"
That mortal terror which deprives the assassin of even ordinary common
sense seized him. He looked eagerly about him, and thought he noticed
three or four passers-by look at him curiously. His terror increased.
He began running in the direction of the Latin quarter without purpose,
without aim, running for the sake of running, to get away, like Crime,
as represented in paintings, fleeing under the lashes of the Furies.
He very soon stopped, however, for it occurred to him that this
extraordinary behaviour would attract attention.
It seemed to him that everything in him betokened the murderer; he
thought he read contempt and horror upon every face, and suspicion in
every eye.
He walked along, instinctively repeating to himself: "I must do
something."
But he was so agitated that he was incapable of thinking or of planning
anything.
When he still hesitated to commit the crime, he had said to himself; "I
may be discovered." And with that possibility in view, he had perfected
a plan which should put him beyond all fear of pursuit.
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