drowsiness, and abrupt, harrowing awakenings. In his furious
obstinacy, he still went to Therese, but only to always run against the
body of Camille. He performed the same journey more than ten times over.
He started all afire, followed the same itinerary, experienced the same
sensations, accomplished the same acts, with minute exactitude; and
more than ten times over, he saw the drowned man present himself to be
embraced, when he extended his arms to seize and clasp his love.

This same sinister catastrophe which awoke him on each occasion, gasping
and distracted, did not discourage him. After an interval of a few
minutes, as soon as he had fallen asleep again, forgetful of the hideous
corpse awaiting him, he once more hurried away to seek the young woman.

Laurent passed an hour a prey to these successive nightmares, to these
bad dreams that followed one another ceaselessly, without any warning,
and he was struck with more acute terror at each start they gave him.

The last of these shocks proved so violent, so painful that he
determined to get up, and struggle no longer. Day was breaking. A gleam
of dull, grey light was entering at the window in the roof which cut out
a pale grey square in the sky.

Laurent slowly dressed himself, with a feeling of sullen irritation,
exasperated at having been unable to sleep, exasperated at allowing
himself to be caught by a fright which he now regarded as childish. As
he drew on this trousers he stretched himself, he rubbed his limbs,
he passed his hands over his face, harassed and clouded by a feverish
night. And he repeated:

"I ought not to have thought of all that, I should have gone to sleep.
Had I done so, I should be fresh and well-disposed now."

Then it occurred to him that if he had been with Therese, she would have
prevented him being afraid, and this idea brought him a little calm. At
the bottom of his heart he dreaded passing other nights similar to the
one he had just gone through.

After splashing some water in his face, he ran the comb through his
hair, and this bit of toilet while refreshing his head, drove away the
final vestiges of terror. He now reasoned freely, and experienced no
other inconvenience from his restless night, than great fatigue in all
his limbs.

"I am not a poltroon though," he said to himself as he finished
dressing. "I don't care a fig about Camille. It's absurd to think that
this poor devil is under my bed. I shall, perhaps, have the