Fire in the Blood Read Online Free PDF Page A

fields and deep woods, many things happen that no one knows about. As for me, well, even if I hadn't seen that red jacket near the lake an hour before, I would have guessed that these young people were in love: their calm, arrogant demeanour, and a kind of stifled passion concealed in their movements, in their smiles, gave them away. Especially her. She was burning. "She finds the nights long," old Declos had said. I could picture those nights, nights in her old husband's bed, dreaming of her lover, counting her husband's sighs, wondering, "When will he finally stop breathing?"
    She opened the cupboard, which I imagined to be stuffed full of money beneath piles of sheets; this isn't the kind of place where we make bankers even richer; everyone keeps his possessions close, like a cherished child. I glanced at Marc Ohnet to see if I could catch a glimmer of envy on his face, for no one's rich in his family: his father was the eldest of fourteen children and his share of the property is small. But no. As soon as he saw the money he quickly turned away. He went over to the window and stared out of it for a long time: you could see the valley and the woods in the clear night. I t w as the kind of March weather when the wind seems to chase every single speck of cloud and fog from the sky; the stars sparkled brightly above.
    "How's Colette?" I asked. "Did you see her today?" "She's fine."
    "And her husband?"
    "Her husband's away. He's in Nevers and won't get back until tomorrow."
    She answered my questions but never took her eyes off the tall, dark young man's face. His whole being looks supple and strong, not exactly brutal, but a bit wild; his hair is black, his forehead narrow, his teeth white, close together and rather sharp. He brought to this dismal room the smell of the woods in spring, a sharp, invigorating smell that brings life to my old bones. I could have gone on walking all night. When I left Coudray the idea of going home was unbearable, so I headed towards the Moulin-Neuf where I would ask to have supper. I crossed the wood; it was totally deserted this time, mysterious in the whistling wind.
    I walked towards the river; I had only ever been to the mill in daylight before, when it was working. The noise of the wheel turning-powerful but gentle at the same time-soothes the heart. Now, the silence felt strange to me. It made me almost uncomfortable. You strained to hear each sound, in spite of yourself; but there was nothing except the rush of water. I went over the footbridge; here you are hit by a cold smell: the water, the darkness, the damp reeds. The night was so clear that you could see the white foam on the fast-flowing stream. There was a light on upstairs: Colette waiting for he r h usband. The wooden boards creaked beneath my feet; she heard me coming. The door opened and I could see Colette running towards me, but when she was a few steps away from me she stopped.
    "Who's there?" she asked, her voice faltering.
    I said my name. "You were expecting Jean, I suppose?" I continued.
    She didn't reply. She walked slowly towards me so I could kiss her forehead. She wasn't wearing a hat and was dressed in a light dressing gown, as if she had just got out of bed. Her forehead was burning hot; her entire manner seemed so peculiar that I suddenly wondered what was going on.
    "Am I disturbing you? I thought I would ask for some supper."
    "Well . . . I'd be very happy to," she murmured, "but, it's just that I wasn't expecting you, and . . . I'm not feeling well . . . Jean's away . . . I sent the maid home and had some milk for my supper, in bed."
    The longer she spoke, the more confident she became. She ended up telling me a very plausible little story: she had a touch of flu ... if I touched her hands and cheeks, I'd see she had a fever; the maid was in the village, at her daughter's house, and wouldn't be back until the next day. She was very sorry not to be able to offer me a proper supper, but if I would be happy with