reddish gleam that passed beneath her closed lids, she could still see
Camille and Laurent struggling at the side of the boat. She perceived
her husband, livid, horrible, increased in height, rearing up straight
above the turbid water, and this implacable vision heightened the
feverish heat of her blood.

Old Michaud endeavoured to speak to her and console her. But she made a
movement of impatience, and turning round, broke out into a fresh fit of
sobbing.

"Leave her alone, sir," said the restaurant keeper, "she shudders at the
slightest sound. You see, she wants rest."

Below, in the general room, was a policeman drawing up a statement of
the accident. Michaud and his son went downstairs, followed by Laurent.
When Olivier had made himself known as an upper official at the
Prefecture of Police, everything was over in ten minutes. The boating
men, who were still there, gave an account of the drowning in its
smallest details, describing how the three holiday-makers had fallen
into the water, as if they themselves had witnessed the misfortune. Had
Olivier and his father the least suspicion, it would have been dispelled
at once by this testimony.

But they had not doubted the veracity of Laurent for an instant. On the
contrary, they introduced him to the policeman as the best friend of the
victim, and they were careful to see inserted in the report, that
the young man had plunged into the water to save Camille Raquin. The
following day, the newspapers related the accident with a great display
of detail: the unfortunate mother, the inconsolable widow, the noble and
courageous friend, nothing was missing from this event of the day, which
went the round of the Parisian press, and then found an echo in the
provinces.

When the report was completed, Laurent experienced lively joy, which
penetrated his being like new life. From the moment his victim had
buried his teeth in his neck, he had been as if stiffened, acting
mechanically, according to a plan arranged long in advance. The instinct
of self-preservation alone impelled him, dictating to him his words,
affording him advice as to his gestures.

At this hour, in the face of the certainty of impunity, the blood
resumed flowing in his veins with delicious gentleness. The police had
passed beside his crime, and had seen nothing. They had been duped, for
they had just acquitted him. He was saved. This thought caused him to
experience a feeling of delightful moisture all a