eeking with the blood of Camille?
Camille was full of tenderness for me, and I would kill you, do you
hear, if that could bring him to life again, and give me back his love."

"Will you hold your tongue, you wretch?" shouted Laurent.

"Why should I hold my tongue?" she retorted. "I am speaking the truth.
I would purchase forgiveness at the price of your blood. Ah! How I
weep, and how I suffer! It is my own fault if a scoundrel, such as you,
murdered my husband. I must go, one of these nights, and kiss the ground
where he rests. That will be my final rapture."

Laurent, beside himself, rendered furious by the atrocious pictures that
Therese spread out before his eyes, rushed upon her, and threw her down,
menacing her with his uplifted fist.

"That's it," she cried, "strike me, kill me! Camille never once raised
his hand to me, but you are a monster."

And Laurent, spurred on by what she said, shook her with rage, beat her,
bruised her body with his clenched fists. In two instances he almost
strangled her. Therese yielded to his blows. She experienced keen
delight in being struck, delivering herself up, thrusting her body
forward, provoking her husband in every way, so that he might half kill
her again. This was another remedy for her suffering. She slept better
at night when she had been thoroughly beaten in the evening. Madame
Raquin enjoyed exquisite pleasure, when Laurent dragged her niece along
the floor in this way, belabouring her with thumps and kicks.

The existence of the assassin had become terrible since the day when
Therese conceived the infernal idea of feeling remorse and of mourning
Camille aloud. From that moment the wretch lived everlastingly with
his victim. At every hour, he had to listen to his wife praising and
regretting her first husband. The least incident became a pretext:
Camille did this, Camille did that, Camille had such and such qualities,
Camille loved in such and such a way.

It was always Camille! Ever sad remarks bewailing his death. Therese
had recourse to all her spitefulness to render this torture, which she
inflicted on Laurent so as to shield her own self, as cruel as possible.
She went into details, relating a thousand insignificant incidents
connected with her youth, accompanied by sighs and expressions of
regret, and in this manner, mingled the remembrance of the drowned man
with every action of her daily life.

The corpse which already haunted the house, was introduced t