the thought that he must at length begin to think of
his marriage. It was almost fifteen months since the death of Camille.
For an instant, Laurent had the idea of not marrying at all, of jilting
Therese. Then he said to himself that it was no good killing a man for
nothing. In recalling the crime, and the terrible efforts he had made to
be the sole possessor of this woman who was now troubling him, he felt
that the murder would become useless and atrocious should he not marry
her. Besides, was he not bound to Therese by a bond of blood and horror?
Moreover, he feared his accomplice; perhaps, if he failed to marry her,
she would go and relate everything to the judicial authorities out of
vengeance and jealousy. With these ideas beating in his head the fever
settled on him again.

Now, one Sunday the model did not return; no doubt she had found a
warmer and more comfortable place to lodge. Laurent was only moderately
upset, but he felt a sudden gap in his life without a woman lying beside
him at night. In a week his passions rebelled and he began spending
entire evenings at the shop again. He watched Therese who was still
palpitating from the novels which she read.

After a year of indifferent waiting they both were again tormented by
desire. One evening while shutting up the shop, Laurent spoke to Therese
in the passage.

"Do you want me to come to your room to-night," he asked passionately.

She started with fear. "No, let's wait. Let's be prudent."

"It seems to me that I've already waited a long time," he went on. "I'm
sick of waiting."

Therese, her hands and face burning hot, looked at him wildly. She
seemed to hesitate, and then said quickly:

"Let's get married."

CHAPTER XVII

Laurent left the arcade with a strained mind. Therese had filled him
with the old longing lusts again. He walked along with his hat in his
hand, so as to get the fresh air full in his face.

On reaching the door of his hotel in the Rue Saint-Victor, he was afraid
to go upstairs, and remain alone. A childish, inexplicable, unforeseen
terror made him fear he would find a man hidden in his garret. Never had
he experienced such poltroonery. He did not even seek to account for
the strange shudder that ran through him. He entered a wine-shop and
remained an hour there, until midnight, motionless and silent at
a table, mechanically absorbing great glasses of wine. Thinking of
Therese, his anger raged at her refusal to have him in