feet dangled down.

Laurent gazed at Camille. He had never yet seen the body of a drowned
person presenting such a dreadful aspect. The corpse, moreover, looked
pinched. It had a thin, poor appearance. It had shrunk up in its decay,
and the heap it formed was quite small. Anyone might have guessed
that it belonged to a clerk at 1,200 francs a year, who was stupid and
sickly, and who had been brought up by his mother on infusions. This
miserable frame, which had grown to maturity between warm blankets, was
now shivering on a cold slab.

When Laurent could at last tear himself from the poignant curiosity that
kept him motionless and gaping before his victim, he went out and begun
walking rapidly along the quay. And as he stepped out, he repeated:

"That is what I have done. He is hideous."

A smell seemed to be following him, the smell that the putrefying body
must be giving off.

He went to find old Michaud, and told him he had just recognized Camille
lying on one of the slabs in the Morgue. The formalities were performed,
the drowned man was buried, and a certificate of death delivered.
Laurent, henceforth at ease, felt delighted to be able to bury his
crime in oblivion, along with the vexatious and painful scenes that had
followed it.



CHAPTER XIV