is chin and
perceived the red spot beneath the white lather, he at once flew into a
rage, and rapidly brought the razor to his neck, to cut right into the
flesh. But the sensations of the cold steel against his skin always
brought him to his senses, and caused him to feel so faint that he was
obliged to seat himself, and wait until he had recovered sufficient
courage to continue shaving.

He only issued from his torpor at night to fall into blind and puerile
fits of anger. When tired of quarreling with Therese and beating her,
he would kick the walls like a child, and look for something he could
break. This relieved him.

He had a particular dislike for the tabby cat Francois who, as soon as
he appeared, sought refuge on the knees of Madame Raquin. If Laurent had
not yet killed the animal, it was because he dared not take hold of
him. The cat looked at him with great round eyes that were diabolical
in their fixedness. He wondered what these eyes which never left him,
wanted; and he ended by having regular fits of terror, and imagining all
sorts of ridiculous things.

When at table--at no matter what moment, in the middle of a quarrel or
of a long silence--he happened, all at once, to look round, and perceive
Francois examining him with a harsh, implacable stare, he turned pale
and lost his head. He was on the point of saying to the cat:

"Heh! Why don't you speak? Tell me what it is you want with me."

When he could crush his paw or tail, he did so in affrighted joy, the
mewing of the poor creature giving him vague terror, as though he
heard a human cry of pain. Laurent, in fact, was afraid of Francois,
particularly since the latter passed his time on the knees of the
impotent old lady, as if in the centre of an impregnable fortress,
whence he could with impunity set his eyes on his enemy. The murderer
of Camille established a vague resemblance between this irritated animal
and the paralysed woman, saying to himself that the cat, like Madame
Raquin, must know about the crime and would denounce him, if he ever
found a tongue.

At last, one night, Francois looked at Laurent so fixedly, that the
latter, irritated to the last pitch, made up his mind to put an end to
the annoyance. He threw the window of the dining-room wide open, and
advancing to where the cat was seated, grasped him by the skin at the
back of the neck. Madame Raquin understood, and two big tears
rolled down her cheeks. The cat began to swear, and st