of her.

It was very dark that night: the sky all veiled, no light anywhere a
night like November. One would have said there was snow in the air. I
think I must have slept toward morning (I have observed throughout that
the preliminaries of these occurrences have always been veiled in
sleep), and when I woke suddenly it was to find myself, if I may so
speak, the subject of a struggle. The struggle was within me, yet it was
not I. In my mind there was a desire to rise from where I sat and go
away, I could not tell where or why; but something in me said stay, and
my limbs were as heavy as lead. I could not move; I sat still against my
will; against one part of my will--but the other was obstinate and would
not let me go. Thus a combat took place within me of which I knew not
the meaning. While it went on I began to hear the sound of many feet,
the opening of doors, the people pouring out into the streets. This gave
me no surprise; it seemed to me that I understood why it was; only in my
own case, I knew nothing. I listened to the steps pouring past, going on
and on, faintly dying away in the distance, and there was a great
stillness. I then became convinced, though I cannot tell how, that I was
the only living man left in Semur; but neither did this trouble me. The
struggle within me came to an end, and I experienced a great calm.

I cannot tell how long it was till I perceived a change in the air, in
the darkness round me. It was like the movement of some one unseen. I
have felt such a sensation in the night, when all was still, before now.
I saw nothing. I heard nothing. Yet I was aware, I cannot tell how, that
there was a great coming and going, and the sensation as of a multitude
in the air. I then rose and went into my house, where Leocadie, my old
housekeeper, had shut all the doors so carefully when she went to bed.
They were now all open, even the door of my wife's room of which I kept