"Very well, I will deprive myself of drinking," retorted Laurent.
"This water is excellent," said she.
"It is warm, and has a muddy taste," he answered. "It's like water from
the river."
"Water from the river?" repeated Therese.
And she burst out sobbing. A juncture of ideas had just occurred in her
mind.
"Why do you cry?" asked Laurent, who foresaw the answer, and turned
pale.
"I cry," sobbed the young woman, "I cry because--you know why--Oh! Great
God! Great God! It was you who killed him."
"You lie!" shouted the murderer vehemently, "confess that you lie. If I
threw him into the Seine, it was you who urged me to commit the murder."
"I! I!" she exclaimed.
"Yes, you! Don't act the ignorant," he replied, "don't compel me to
force you to tell the truth. I want you to confess your crime, to take
your share in the murder. It will tranquillise and relieve me."
"But _I_ did not drown Camille," she pleaded.
"Yes, you did, a thousand times yes!" he shouted. "Oh! You feign
astonishment and want of memory. Wait a moment, I will recall your
recollections."
Rising from table, he bent over the young woman, and with crimson
countenance, yelled in her face:
"You were on the river bank, you remember, and I said to you in an
undertone: 'I am going to pitch him into the water.
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