not trouble them, its fire had died out. They remained there,
calmly talking, looking at one another without reddening and without
a thrill. They even avoided being alone. In their intimacy, they found
nothing to say, and both were afraid that they appeared too cold.
When they exchanged a pressure of the hand, they experienced a sort of
discomfort at the touch of their skins.

Both imagined they could explain what made them so indifferent and
alarmed when face to face with one another. They put the coldness of
their attitude down to prudence. Their calm, according to them, was the
result of great caution on their part. They pretended they desired this
tranquillity, and somnolence of their hearts. On the other hand, they
regarded the repugnance, the uncomfortable feeling experienced as a
remains of terror, as the secret dread of punishment. Sometimes, forcing
themselves to hope, they sought to resume the burning dreams of other
days, and were quite astonished to find they had no imagination.

Then, they clung to the idea of their forthcoming marriage. They fancied
that having attained their end, without a single fear to trouble them,
delivered over to one another, their passion would burn again, and
they would taste the delights that had been their dream. This prospect
brought them calm, and prevented them descending to the void hollowed
out beneath them. They persuaded themselves they loved one another as
in the past, and they awaited the moment when they were to be perfectly
happy bound together for ever.

Never had Therese possessed so placid a mind. She was certainly becoming
better. All her implacable, natural will was giving way. She felt happy
at night, alone in her bed; no longer did she find the thin face, and
piteous form of Camille at her side to exasperate her. She imagined
herself a little girl, a maid beneath the white curtains, lying
peacefully amidst the silence and darkness. Her spacious, and slightly
cold room rather pleased her, with its lofty ceiling, its obscure
corners, and its smack of the cloister.

She even ended by liking the great black wall which rose up before her
window. Every night during one entire summer, she remained for hours
gazing at the grey stones in this wall, and at the narrow strips of
starry sky cut out by the chimneys and roofs. She only thought of
Laurent when awakened with a start by nightmare. Then, sitting up,
trembling, with dilated eyes, and pressing her nightdress to