"I beg you to go and unhook it," said he, beseeching his companion.
"No, no," she replied.
"We will turn it face to the wall, and then it will not frighten us," he
suggested.
"No," said she, "I cannot do it."
The murderer, cowardly and humble, thrust the young woman towards the
canvas, hiding behind her, so as to escape the gaze of the drowned man.
But she escaped, and he wanted to brazen the matter out. Approaching the
picture, he raised his hand in search of the nail, but the portrait gave
such a long, crushing, ignoble look, that Laurent after seeking to
stare it out, found himself vanquished, and started back overpowered,
murmuring as he did so:
"No, you are right, Therese, we cannot do it. Your aunt shall take it
down to-morrow."
He resumed his walk up and down, with bowed head, feeling the portrait
was staring at him, following him with its eyes. At times, he could not
prevent himself casting a side glance at the canvas; and, then, in the
depth of the darkness, he still perceived the dull, deadened eyes of the
drowned man. The thought that Camille was there, in a corner, watching
him, present on his wedding night, examining Therese and himself, ended
by driving him mad with terror and despair.
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