Laurent furnished the place anywise; he brought a couple of chairs
with holes in the rush seats, a table that he set against the wall so
that it might not slip down, an old kitchen dresser, his colour-box and
easel; all the luxury in the place consisted of a spacious divan which
he purchased for thirty francs from a second-hand dealer.
He remained a fortnight without even thinking of touching his brushes.
He arrived between eight and nine o'clock in the morning, smoked,
stretched himself on the divan, and awaited noon, delighted that it was
morning, and that he had many hours of daylight before him. At twelve
he went to lunch. As soon as the meal was over, he hastened back, to be
alone, and get away from the pale face of Therese. He next went through
the process of digestion, sleeping spread out on the divan until
evening. His studio was an abode of peace where he did not tremble. One
day his wife asked him if she might visit this dear refuge. He refused,
and as, notwithstanding his refusal, she came and knocked at the door,
he refrained from opening to her, telling her in the evening that he
had spent the day at the Louvre Museum. He was afraid that Therese might
bring the spectre of Camille with her.
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