As
he drew on this trousers he stretched himself, he rubbed his limbs,
he passed his hands over his face, harassed and clouded by a feverish
night. And he repeated:
"I ought not to have thought of all that, I should have gone to sleep.
Had I done so, I should be fresh and well-disposed now."
Then it occurred to him that if he had been with Therese, she would have
prevented him being afraid, and this idea brought him a little calm. At
the bottom of his heart he dreaded passing other nights similar to the
one he had just gone through.
After splashing some water in his face, he ran the comb through his
hair, and this bit of toilet while refreshing his head, drove away the
final vestiges of terror. He now reasoned freely, and experienced no
other inconvenience from his restless night, than great fatigue in all
his limbs.
"I am not a poltroon though," he said to himself as he finished
dressing. "I don't care a fig about Camille. It's absurd to think that
this poor devil is under my bed. I shall, perhaps, have the same idea,
now, every night. I must certainly marry as soon as possible. When
Therese has me in her arms, I shall not think much about Camille. She
will kiss me on the neck, and I shall cease to feel the atrocious burn
that troubles me at present.
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