The nocturnal coolness of the atmosphere
cheered him up; the silence, the darkness gave him sharp sensations of
delight, and he loitered on his way.
At last he was rid of his crime. He had killed Camille. It was a matter
that was settled, and would be spoken of no more. He was now going to
lead a tranquil existence, until he could take possession of Therese.
The thought of the murder had at times half choked him, but now that it
was accomplished, he felt a weight removed from his chest, and breathed
at ease, cured of the suffering that hesitation and fear had given him.
At the bottom of his heart, he was a trifle hebetated. Fatigue had
rendered his limbs and thoughts heavy. He went in to bed and slept
soundly. During his slumber slight nervous crispations coursed over his
face.
CHAPTER XIII
The following morning, Laurent awoke fresh and fit. He had slept well.
The cold air entering by the open window, whipped his sluggish blood. He
had no clear recollection of the scenes of the previous day, and had it
not been for the burning sensation at his neck, he might have thought
that he had retired to rest after a calm evening.
But the bite Camille had given him stung as if his skin had been branded
with a red-hot iron.
Pages:
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120