Raquin and Camille considered this a long way to go, and thought it
doubtful whether the journey would have a satisfactory result; but they
expressed no surprise, and allowed Therese to set out on her errand in
all tranquillity.

The young woman ran to the Port aux Vins, gliding over the slippery
pavement, and knocking up against the passers-by, in her hurry to reach
her destination. Beads of perspiration covered her face, and her hands
were burning. Anyone might have taken her for a drunken woman. She
rapidly ascended the staircase of the hotel, and on reaching the sixth
floor, out of breath, and with wandering eyes, she perceived Laurent,
who was leaning over the banister awaiting her.

She entered the garret, which was so small that she could barely turn
round in it, and tearing off her hat with one hand leant against the
bedstead in a faint. Through the lift-up window in the roof, which was
wide open, the freshness of the evening fell upon the burning couch.

The couple remained some time in this wretched little room, as though
at the bottom of a hole. All at once, Therese heard a clock in the
neighbourhood strike ten. She felt as if she would have liked to have
been deaf. Nevertheless, she looked for her hat which she fastened to
her hair with a long pin, and then seating herself, slowly murmured:

"I must go."

Laurent fell on his knees before her, and took her hands.

"Good-bye, till we see each other again," said she, without moving.