e. Keep your
crime for yourself. Do not seek to make me more terrified than I am
already."

Laurent raised his hand to strike her in the face.

"Beat me, I prefer that," said she, "I shall suffer less."

And she advanced her head. But he restrained himself, and taking a
chair, sat down beside her.

"Listen," he began in a voice that he endeavoured to render calm, "it is
cowardly to refuse to take your share in the crime. You know perfectly
well that as we did the deed together, you know you are as guilty as I
am. Why do you want to make my load heavier, by saying you are innocent?
If you were so, you would not have consented to marry me. Just recall
what passed during the two years following the murder. Do you want a
proof? If so I will go and relate everything to the Public Prosecutor,
and you will see whether we are not both condemned."

They shuddered, and Therese resumed:

"Men may, perhaps, condemn me, but Camille knows very well that you did
everything. He does not torment me at night as he does you."

"Camille leaves me in peace," said Laurent, pale and trembling, "it is
you who see him before you in your nightmares. I have heard you shout
out."

"Don't say that," angrily exclaimed the young woman. "I have never
shouted out. I don't wish the spectre to appear. Oh! I understand, you
want to drive it away from yourself. I am innocent, I am innocent!"

They looked at one another in terror, exhausted with fatigue, fearing
they had evoked the corpse of the drowned man. Their quarrels invariably
ended in this way; they protested their innocence, they sought to
deceive themselves, so as to drive away their bad dreams. They made
constant efforts, each in turn, to reject the responsibility of the
crime, defending themselves as though they were before a judge and jury,
and accusing one another.

The strangest part of this attitude was that they did not succeed in
duping themselves by their oaths. Both had a perfect recollection of all
the circumstances connected with the murder, and their eyes avowed what
their lips denied.

Their falsehoods were puerile, their affirmations ridiculous. It was the
wordy dispute of two wretches who lied for the sake of lying, without
succeeding in concealing from themselves that they did so. Each took the
part of accuser in turn, and although the prosecution they instituted
against one another proved barren of result, they began it again every
evening with cruel tenacity.

Th