followed before, when he was dreaming with his eyes open; he entered the
Arcade of the Pont Neuf, ascended the little staircase and scratched at
the door. But instead of Therese, it was Camille who opened the door,
Camille, just as he had seen him at the Morgue, looking greenish, and
atrociously disfigured. The corpse extended his arms to him, with a vile
laugh, displaying the tip of a blackish tongue between its white teeth.

Laurent shrieked, and awoke with a start. He was bathed in perspiration.
He pulled the bedclothes over his eyes, swearing and getting into a rage
with himself. He wanted to go to sleep again. And he did so as before,
slowly.

The same feeling of heaviness overcame him, and as soon as his will had
again escaped in the languidness of semi-slumber, he set out again. He
returned where his fixed idea conducted him; he ran to see Therese, and
once more it was the drowned man who opened the door.

The wretch sat up terrified. He would have given anything in the world
to be able to drive away this implacable dream. He longed for heavy
sleep to crush his thoughts. So long as he remained awake, he had
sufficient energy to expel the phantom of his victim; but as soon as he
lost command of his mind it led him to the acme of terror.

He again attempted to sleep. Then came a succession of delicious
spells of 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