of Laurent should have grazed the shoulder of Therese, for their lust to
be satisfied to the point of disgust and horror.

In despair, they sought to find within them a little of that passion
which formerly had devoured them. Their frames seemed deprived of
muscles and nerves, and their embarrassment and anxiety increased. They
felt ashamed of remaining so silent and gloomy face to face with one
another. They would have liked to have had the strength to squeeze each
other to death, so as not to pass as idiots in their own eyes.

What! they belonged one to the other, they had killed a man, and played
an atrocious comedy in order to be able to love in peace, and they sat
there, one on either side of a mantelshelf, rigid, exhausted, their
minds disturbed and their frames lifeless! Such a denouement appeared
to them horribly and cruelly ridiculous. It was then that Laurent
endeavoured to speak of love, to conjure up the remembrances of other
days, appealing to his imagination for a revival of his tenderness.

"Therese," he said, "don't you recall our afternoons in this room? Then
I came in by that door, but today I came in by this one. We are free
now. We can make love in peace."

He spoke in a hesitating, spiritless manner, and the young woman,
huddled up on her low chair, continued gazing dreamily at the flame
without listening. Laurent went on:

"Remember how I used to dream of staying a whole night with you? I
dreamed of waking up in the morning to your kisses, now it can come
true."