he slightest thing he said, that he could not open his mouth without
letting out some stupidity."

"Don't jeer," said Therese. "It only remains for you to insult the man
you murdered. You know nothing about the feelings of a woman, Laurent;
Camille loved me and I loved him."

"You loved him! Ah! Really what a capital idea," exclaimed Laurent. "And
no doubt it was because you loved your husband, that you took me as a
sweetheart. I remember one day when we were together, that you told me
Camille disgusted you, when you felt the end of your fingers enter his
flesh as if it were soft clay. Oh! I know why you loved me. You required
more vigorous arms than those of that poor devil."

"I loved him as a sister," answered Therese. "He was the son of my
benefactress. He had all the delicate feelings of a feeble man. He
showed himself noble and generous, serviceable and loving. And we killed
him, good God! good God!"

She wept, and swooned away. Madame Raquin cast piercing glances at her,
indignant to hear the praise of Camille sung by such a pair of lips.
Laurent who was unable to do anything against this overflow of tears,
walked to and fro with furious strides, searching in his head for some
means to stifle the remorse of Therese.

All the good he heard said of his victim ended by causing him poignant
anxiety. Now and again he let himself be caught by the heartrending
accents of his wife. He really believed in the virtues of Camille, and
his terror redoubled. But what tried his patience beyond measure was
the comparison that the widow of the drowned man never failed to draw
between her first and second husband, and which was all to the advantage
of the former.

"Well! Yes," she cried, "he was better than you. I would sooner he were
alive now, and you in his place underground."

Laurent first of all shrugged his shoulders.

"Say what you will," she continued, becoming animated, "although I
perhaps failed to love him in his lifetime, yet I remember all his good
qualities now, and do love him. Yes, I love him and hate you, do you
hear? For you are an assassin."

"Will you hold your tongue?" yelled Laurent.

"And he is a victim," she went on, notwithstanding the threatening
attitude of her husband, "an upright man killed by a rascal. Oh! I am
not afraid of you. You know well enough that you are a miserable wretch,
a brute of a man without a heart, and without a soul. How can you expect
me to love you, now that you are r