She had fallen on the long easy chair, and, covering her face at the spot where I had struck her, she looked at me.
Her features exhibited fear and hatred toward me, her enemy, such as the rat exhibits when one lifts the rat-trap.

At least, I saw nothing in her but that fear and hatred, the fear and hatred which love for another had provoked.

Perhaps I still should have restrained myself, and should not have gone to the last extremity, if she had maintained silence.

But suddenly she began to speak; she grasped my hand that held the dagger.
"'Come to your senses! What are you doing?
What is the matter with you?
Nothing has happened, nothing, nothing! I swear it to you!' "I might have delayed longer, but these last words, from which I inferred the contrary of what they affirmed,--that is, that EVERYTHING had happened,--these words called for a reply.

And the reply must correspond to the condition into which I had lashed myself, and which was increasing and must continue to increase.