CHAPTER XXII

The following nights proved still more cruel. The murderers had wished
to pass this part of the twenty-four hours together, so as to be able
to defend themselves against the drowned man, and by a strange effect,
since they had been doing so, they shuddered the more. They were
exasperated, and their nerves so irritated, that they underwent
atrocious attacks of suffering and terror, at the exchange of a simple
word or look. At the slightest conversation between them, at the least
talk, they had alone, they began raving, and were ready to draw blood.

The sort of remorse Laurent experienced was purely physical. His body,
his irritated nerves and trembling frame alone were afraid of the
drowned man. His conscience was for nothing in his terror. He did not
feel the least regret at having killed Camille. When he was calm, when
the spectre did not happen to be there, he would have committed the
murder over again, had he thought his interests absolutely required it.

During the daytime he laughed at himself for his fright, making up his
mind to be stronger, and he harshly rebuked Therese, whom he accused of
troubling him. According to what he said, it was Therese who shuddered,
it was Therese alone who brought on the frightful scenes, at night, in
the bedroom. And, as soon as night came, as soon as he found himself
shut in with his wife, icy perspiration pearled on his skin, and his
frame shook with childish terror.

He thus underwent intermittent nervous attacks that returned nightly,
and threw his senses into confusion while showing him the hideous
green face of his victim. These attacks resembled the accesses of some
frightful illness, a sort of hysteria of murder. The name of illness,