190#They’re not there. She isn’t in her room. The baby’s gone.’

Périer and Hans cried out and without thinking what they were doing all

three of them scampered upstairs. The harsh light of the winter afternoon cast

over the shabby furniture, the iron bed, the cheap wardrobe, the chest of

drawers, a dismal squalor. There was no one in the room.

‘Where is she?’ screamed Madame Périer. She ran into the narrow passage,

opening doors, and called the girl’s name. ‘Annette, Annette. Oh, what

madness!’

‘Perhaps in the sitting–room.’

They ran downstairs to the unused parlour. An icy air met them as they

opened the door. They opened the door of a storeroom.

‘She’s gone out. Something awful has happened.’

‘How could she have got out?’ asked Hans sick with anxiety.

‘Through the front door, you fool.’

Périer went up to it and looked.

‘That’s right. The bolt’s drawn back.’

‘Oh, my God, my God, what madness,’ cried Madame Périer. ‘It’ll kill her.’

‘We must look for her,’ said Hans. Instinctively, because that was the way he

always went in and out, he ran back into the kitchen and the others followed

him. ‘Which way?’

‘The brook,’ the old woman gasped.

He stopped as though turned to stone with horror. He stared at the old

woman aghast.

‘I’m frightened,’ she cried. ‘I’m frightened.’

Hans flung open the door, and as he did so Annette walked in. She had

nothing on but her nightdress and a flimsy rayon dressing–gown. It was pink,

with pale blue flowers. She was soaked, and her hair, dishevelled, clung damply

to her head and hung down her shoulders in bedraggled wisps. She was

deathly white. Madame Périer sprang towards her and took her in her arms.

‘Where have you been? Oh, my poor child, you’re wet through. What

madness!’

But Annette pushed her away. She looked at Hans.

‘You’ve come at the right moment, you.’

‘Where’s the baby?’ cried Madame Périer.

‘I had to do it at once. I was afraid if I waited I shouldn’t have the courage.’

‘Annette, what have you done?’

‘I’ve done what I had to do. I took it down to the brook and held it under

water till it was dead.’

Hans gave a great cry, the cry of an animal wounded to death; he covered his

face with his hands, and staggering like a drunken man flung out of the door.

Annette sank into a chair, and leaning her forehead on her two fists burst into

passionate weeping.