rapidly entering the passage, he ascended the narrow, dark staircase,
leaning against the walls which were clammy with damp. He stumbled
against the stone steps, and each time he did so, he felt a red-hot iron
piercing his chest. A door opened, and on the threshold, in the midst of
a gleam of white light he perceived Therese, who closing the door after
him, threw her arms about his neck.

Laurent was astonished to find his sweetheart handsome. He had never
seen her before as she appeared to him then. Therese, supple and strong,
pressed him in her arms, flinging her head backward, while on her visage
coursed ardent rays of light and passionate smiles. This face seemed as
if transfigured, with its moist lips and sparkling eyes. It now had
a fond caressing look. It radiated. She was beautiful with the strong
beauty born of passionate abandon.

When Laurent parted from her, after his initial visit, he staggered like
a drunken man, and the next day, on recovering his cunning prudent calm,
he asked himself whether he should return to this young woman whose
kisses gave him the fever. First of all he positively decided to keep to
himself. Then he had a cowardly feeling. He sought to forget, to avoid
seeing Therese, and yet she always seemed to be there, implacably
extending her arms. The physical suffering that this spectacle caused
him became intolerable.

He gave way. He arranged another meeting, and returned to the Arcade of
the Pont Neuf.

From that day forth, Therese entered into his life. He did not yet
accept her, although he bore with her. He had his hours of terror,
his moments of prudence, and, altogether this intrigue caused him