She's waiting for me."
This abrupt movement drove away the hallucination. He felt the chill of
the tile flooring, and was afraid. For a moment he stood motionless on
his bare feet, listening. He fancied he heard a sound on the landing.
And he reflected that if he went to Therese, he would again have to pass
before the door of the cellar below. This thought sent a cold shiver
down his back. Again he was seized with fright, a sort of stupid
crushing terror. He looked distrustfully round the room, where he
distinguished shreds of whitish light. Then gently, with anxious, hasty
precautions, he went to bed again, and there huddling himself together,
hid himself, as if to escape a weapon, a knife that threatened him.
The blood had flown violently to his neck, which was burning him. He put
his hand there, and beneath his fingers felt the scar of the bite he
had received from Camille. He had almost forgotten this wound and was
terrified when he found it on his skin, where it seemed to be gnawing
into his flesh. He rapidly withdrew his hand so as not to feel the scar,
but he was still conscious of its being there boring into and devouring
his neck. Then, when he delicately scratched it with his nail, the
terrible burning sensation increased twofold.
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