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There
,
indeed
,
was
a
woman
with
dishevelled
hair
,
holding
her
hands
over
her
heart
as
one
distressed
with
running
.
She
was
leaning
against
the
corner
of
the
gateway
.
When
she
saw
my
face
at
the
window
she
threw
herself
forward
,
and
shouted
in
a
voice
laden
with
menace
,
"
Monster
,
give
me
my
child
!
"
She
threw
herself
on
her
knees
,
and
raising
up
her
hands
,
cried
the
same
words
in
tones
which
wrung
my
heart
.
Then
she
tore
her
hair
and
beat
her
breast
,
and
abandoned
herself
to
all
the
violences
of
extravagant
emotion
.
Finally
,
she
threw
herself
forward
,
and
though
I
could
not
see
her
,
I
could
hear
the
beating
of
her
naked
hands
against
the
door
.
Somewhere
high
overhead
,
probably
on
the
tower
,
I
heard
the
voice
of
the
Count
calling
in
his
harsh
,
metallic
whisper
.
His
call
seemed
to
be
answered
from
far
and
wide
by
the
howling
of
wolves
.
Before
many
minutes
had
passed
a
pack
of
them
poured
,
like
a
pent-up
dam
when
liberated
,
through
the
wide
entrance
into
the
courtyard
.
There
was
no
cry
from
the
woman
,
and
the
howling
of
the
wolves
was
but
short
.
Before
long
they
streamed
away
singly
,
licking
their
lips
.
I
could
not
pity
her
,
for
I
knew
now
what
had
become
of
her
child
,
and
she
was
better
dead
.
What
shall
I
do
?
What
can
I
do
?
How
can
I
escape
from
this
dreadful
thing
of
night
,
gloom
,
and
fear
?
25
June
.
--
No
man
knows
till
he
has
suffered
from
the
night
how
sweet
and
dear
to
his
heart
and
eye
the
morning
can
be
.
When
the
sun
grew
so
high
this
morning
that
it
struck
the
top
of
the
great
gateway
opposite
my
window
,
the
high
spot
which
it
touched
seemed
to
me
as
if
the
dove
from
the
ark
had
lighted
there
.
My
fear
fell
from
me
as
if
it
had
been
a
vaporous
garment
which
dissolved
in
the
warmth
.
I
must
take
action
of
some
sort
whilst
the
courage
of
the
day
is
upon
me
.
Last
night
one
of
my
post-dated
letters
went
to
post
,
the
first
of
that
fatal
series
which
is
to
blot
out
the
very
traces
of
my
existence
from
the
earth
.
Let
me
not
think
of
it
.
Action
!
