* * * * *

We have eaten ravenously, like wolves. For the first time Jeanne sat at
table with me and shared my meal. For the first and probably for the
last time. Torp opened her eyes very wide, but she was careful to make
no observations.

My fit of madness to-night has taught me that the sooner I have a man of
some kind to protect the house the better.

* * * * *

Jeanne has confided in me. She was too upset to sleep, and came knocking
at my bedroom door, asking if she might come in. I gave her permission,
although I was already in bed. She sat at the foot of my bed and told me
her story. It is so remarkable that I must set in down on paper.

Now I understand her nice hands and all her ways. I understand, too, how
it came about that I found her one day turning over the pages of a
volume by Anatole France, as though she could read French.

Her parents had been married twelve years when she was born. When she
was thirteen they celebrated their silver wedding. Until that moment in
her life she had grown up in the belief that they were a perfectly
united couple. The father was a chemist in a small town, and they lived
comfortably. The silver wedding festivities took place in their own
house. At dinner the girl drank some wine and felt it had gone to her
head. She left the table, saying to her mother, "I am going to lie down
in my room for a little while." But on the way she turned so giddy that
she went by mistake into a spare room that was occupied by a cavalry