n. At moments the frame of the picture
disappeared, and he only saw the two white eyes giving him a long,
steady look.

"I beg you to go and unhook it," said he, beseeching his companion.

"No, no," she replied.

"We will turn it face to the wall, and then it will not frighten us," he
suggested.

"No," said she, "I cannot do it."

The murderer, cowardly and humble, thrust the young woman towards the
canvas, hiding behind her, so as to escape the gaze of the drowned man.
But she escaped, and he wanted to brazen the matter out. Approaching the
picture, he raised his hand in search of the nail, but the portrait gave
such a long, crushing, ignoble look, that Laurent after seeking to
stare it out, found himself vanquished, and started back overpowered,
murmuring as he did so:

"No, you are right, Therese, we cannot do it. Your aunt shall take it
down to-morrow."

He resumed his walk up and down, with bowed head, feeling the portrait
was staring at him, following him with its eyes. At times, he could not
prevent himself casting a side glance at the canvas; and, then, in the
depth of the darkness, he still perceived the dull, deadened eyes of the
drowned man. The thought that Camille was there, in a corner, watching
him, present on his wedding night, examining Therese and himself, ended
by driving him mad with terror and despair.

One circumstance, which would have brought a smile to the lips of anyone
else, made him completely lose his head. As he stood before the fire, he
heard a sort of scratching sound. He turned pale, imagining it came
from the portrait, that Camille was descending from his frame. Then
he discovered that the noise was at the small door opening on the
staircase, and he looked at Therese who also showed signs of fear.

"There is someone on the staircase," he murmured. "Who can be coming
that way?"

The young woman gave no answer. Both were thinking of the drowned man,
and their temples became moist with icy perspiration. They sought refuge
together at the end of the room, expecting to see the door suddenly
open, and the corpse of Camille fall on the floor. As the sound
continued, but more sharply and irregularly, they thought their victim
must be tearing away the wood with his nails to get in. For the space of
nearly five minutes, they dared not stir. Finally, a mewing was heard,
and Laurent advancing, recognised the tabby cat belonging to Madame
Raquin, which had been accidentally shut up in t