Therese, who had not moved, and he seemed to hesitate. Then, perceiving
the bit of shoulder, he bent down quivering, to press his lips to it.
The young woman, abruptly turning round, withdrew her shoulder, and in
doing so, fixed on Laurent such a strange look of repugnance and horror,
that he shrank back, troubled and ill at ease, as if himself seized with
terror and disgust.

Laurent then seated himself opposite Therese, on the other side of the
chimney, and they remained thus, silent and motionless, for fully five
minutes. At times, tongues of reddish flame escaped from the wood, and
then the faces of the murderers were touched with fleeting gleams of
blood.

It was more than a couple of years since the two sweethearts had
found themselves shut up alone in this room. They had arranged
no love-meetings since the day when Therese had gone to the Rue
Saint-Victor to convey to Laurent the idea of murder. Prudence had kept
them apart. Barely had they, at long intervals, ventured on a pressure
of the hand, or a stealthy kiss. After the murder of Camille, they had
restrained their passion, awaiting the nuptial night. This had at last
arrived, and now they remained anxiously face to face, overcome with
sudden discomfort.

They had but to stretch forth their arms to clasp one another in a
passionate embrace, and their arms remained lifeless, as if worn out
with fatigue. The depression they had experienced during the daytime,
now oppressed them more and more. They observed one another with timid
embarrassment, pained to remain so silent and cold. Their burning dreams
ended in a peculiar reality: it sufficed that they should have succeeded
in killing Camille, and have become married, it sufficed that the lips