These instances applied to Chevalier with striking exactitude.
"Supposing he were not dead." He wished and hoped against all evidence that the unfortunate man might still be breathing, that he might be saved.

He thought of fetching bandages, of giving first aid.

Intending to re-examine the man lying in the front room, he raised the lamp, which was still emitting an insufficient light, too suddenly, and so extinguished it.

Whereupon, surprised by the sudden darkness, he lost patience and exclaimed: "Confound the blasted thing!" While lighting it again, he flattered himself with the idea that Chevalier, once taken to hospital, would regain consciousness, and would live, and seeing him already on his feet, perched on his long legs, bawling, clearing his throat, sneering, his desire for his recovery became less eager; he was even beginning to cease to desire it, to regard it as annoying and inconsiderate.

He asked himself anxiously, with a feeling of real uneasiness: "What in the world would he do if he came back, that dismal actor fellow?
Would he return to the Odeon?
Would he stroll through its corridors displaying his great scar?
Would he once more have to see him prowling round Felicie ?" He held the lighted lamp close to the body and recognized the livid bleeding wound, the irregular outline of which reminded him of the Africa of his schoolboy maps.
Plainly death had been instantaneous, and he failed to understand how he could for a moment have doubted it.
He left the house and proceeded to stride up and down in the garden.