briskly sprang from his bed,
murmuring:

"I must go there. She's waiting for me."

This abrupt movement drove away the hallucination. He felt the chill of
the tile flooring, and was afraid. For a moment he stood motionless on
his bare feet, listening. He fancied he heard a sound on the landing.
And he reflected that if he went to Therese, he would again have to pass
before the door of the cellar below. This thought sent a cold shiver
down his back. Again he was seized with fright, a sort of stupid
crushing terror. He looked distrustfully round the room, where he
distinguished shreds of whitish light. Then gently, with anxious, hasty
precautions, he went to bed again, and there huddling himself together,
hid himself, as if to escape a weapon, a knife that threatened him.

The blood had flown violently to his neck, which was burning him. He put
his hand there, and beneath his fingers felt the scar of the bite he
had received from Camille. He had almost forgotten this wound and was
terrified when he found it on his skin, where it seemed to be gnawing
into his flesh. He rapidly withdrew his hand so as not to feel the scar,
but he was still conscious of its being there boring into and devouring
his neck. Then, when he delicately scratched it with his nail, the
terrible burning sensation increased twofold. So as not to tear the
skin, he pressed his two hands between his doubled-up knees, and he
remained thus, rigid and irritated, with the gnawing pain in his neck,
and his teeth chattering with fright.

His mind now settled on Camille with frightful tenacity. Hitherto the
drowned man had not troubled him at night. And behold the thought of
Therese brought up the spectre of her husband. The murderer dared not
open his eyes, afraid of perceiving his victim in a corner of the room.
At one moment, he fancied his bedstead was being shaken in a peculiar
manner. He imagined Camille was beneath it, and that it was he who was
tossing him about in this way so as to make him fall and bite him. With
haggard look and hair on end, he clung to his mattress, imagining the
jerks were becoming more and more violent.

Then, he perceived the bed was not moving, and he felt a reaction. He
sat up, lit his candle, and taxed himself with being an idiot. He next
swallowed a large glassful of water to appease his fever.

"I was wrong to drink at that wine-shop," thought he. "I don't know
what is the matter with me to-night. It's silly. I shall b