Little by little, Laurent became furiously mad, and resolved to drive
Camille from his bed. He had first of all slept with his clothes on,
then he had avoided touching Thérèse. In rage and despair, he wanted, at
last, to take his wife in his arms, and crush the spectre of his victim
rather than leave her to it. This was a superb revolt of brutality.
The hope that the kisses of Thérèse would cure him of his insomnia, had
alone brought him into the room of the young woman. When he had found
himself there, in the position of master, he had become a prey to such
atrocious attacks, that it had not even occurred to him to attempt
the cure. And he had remained overwhelmed for three weeks, without
remembering that he had done everything to obtain Thérèse, and now that
she was in his possession, he could not touch her without increased
suffering.
His excessive anguish drew him from this state of dejection. In
the first moment of stupor, amid the strange discouragement of the
wedding-night, he had forgotten the reasons that had urged him to marry.
But his repeated bad dreams had aroused in him a feeling of sullen
irritation, which triumphed over his cowardice, and restored his memory.
He remembered he had married in order to drive away nightmare, by
pressing his wife closely to his breast. Then, one night, he abruptly
took Thérèse in his arms, and, at the risk of passing over the corpse of
the drowned man, drew her violently to him.
The young woman, who was also driven to extremes, would have cast
herself into the fire had she thought that flames would have purified
her flesh, and delivered her from her woe. She returned Laurent his
advances, determined to be either consumed by the caresses of this man,
or to find relief in them.
And they clasped one another in a hideous embrace. Pain and horror took
the place of love. When their limbs touched, it was like falling on live
coal. They uttered a cry, pressing still closer together, so as not
to leave room for the drowned man. But they still felt the shreds of
Camille, which were ignobly squeezed between them, freezing their skins
in parts, whilst in others they were burning hot.
Their kisses were frightfully cruel. Thérèse sought the bite
that Camille had given in the stiff, swollen neck of Laurent, and
passionately pressed her lips to it. There was the raw sore; this wound
once healed, and the murderers would sleep in peace. The young woman
understood this, and she endeavoured to cauterise the bad place with the
fire of her caresses. But she scorched her lips, and Laurent thrust her
violently away, giving a dismal groan. It seemed to him that she was
pressing a red-hot iron to his neck. Thérèse, half mad, came back.
She wanted to kiss the scar again. She experienced a keenly voluptuous
sensation in placing her mouth on this piece of skin wherein Camille had
buried his teeth.
At one moment she thought of biting her husband in the same place, of
tearing away a large piece of flesh, of making a fresh and deeper wound,
that would remove the trace of the old one. And she said to herself that
she would no more turn pale when she saw the marks of her own teeth.
But Laurent shielded his neck from her kisses. The smarting pain he
experienced was too acute, and each time his wife presented her lips, he
pushed her back. They struggled in this manner with a rattling in their
throats, writhing in the horror of their caresses.
They distinctly felt that they only increased their suffering. They
might well strain one another in these terrible clasps, they cried out
with pain, they burnt and bruised each other, but were unable to calm
their frightfully excited nerves. Each strain rendered their disgust
more intense. While exchanging these ghastly embraces, they were a prey
to the most terrible hallucinations, imagining that the drowned man was
dragging them by the heels, and violently jerking the bedstead.
For a moment they let one another go, feeling repugnance and invincible
nervous agitation. Then they determined not to be conquered. They
clasped each other again in a fresh embrace, and once more were obliged
to separate, for it seemed as if red-hot bradawls were entering their
limbs. At several intervals they attempted in this way to overcome their
disgust, by tiring, by wearing out their nerves. And each time their
nerves became irritated and strained, causing them such exasperation,
that they would perhaps have died of enervation had they remained in the
arms of one another. This battle against their own bodies excited them
to madness, and they obstinately sought to gain the victory. Finally,
a more acute crisis exhausted them. They received a shock of such
incredible violence that they thought they were about to have a fit.
Cast back one on each side of the bed, burning and bruised, they began
to sob. And amidst their tears, they seemed to hear the triumphant
laughter of the drowned man, who again slid, chuckling, under the sheet.
They had been unable to drive him from the bed and were vanquished.
Camille gently stretched himself between them, whilst Laurent deplored
his want of power to thrust him away, and Thérèse trembled lest the
corpse should have the idea of taking advantage of the victory to press
her, in his turn, in his arms, in the quality of legitimate master.
They had made a supreme effort. In face of their defeat, they understood
that, in future, they dared not exchange the smallest kiss. What they
had attempted, in order to drive away their terror, had plunged them
into greater fright. And, as they felt the chill of the corpse, which
was now to separate them for ever, they shed bitter tears, asking
themselves, with anguish, what would become of them.