Grivet never
ceased his remarks on the imprudence of adventuring into the middle
of the Seine, when it was so easy to watch the running water from the
bridges.
Laurent retained a feeling of intense uneasiness. The decease of Camille
had not been formally proved. The husband of Therese was indeed dead,
but the murderer would have liked to have found his body, so as to
obtain a certificate of death. The day following the accident, a
fruitless search had been made for the corpse of the drowned man. It was
thought that it had probably gone to the bottom of some hole near the
banks of the islands, and men were actively dragging the Seine to get
the reward.
In the meantime Laurent imposed on himself the task of passing each
morning by the Morgue, on the way to his office. He had made up his mind
to attend to the business himself. Notwithstanding that his heart rose
with repugnance, notwithstanding the shudders that sometimes ran through
his frame, for over a week he went and examined the countenance of all
the drowned persons extended on the slabs.
When he entered the place an unsavoury odour, an odour of freshly washed
flesh, disgusted him and a chill ran over his skin: the dampness of the
walls seemed to add weight to his clothing, which hung more heavily on
his shoulders.
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