He no longer dared go of an evening to the shop in the Arcade of the Pont Neuf lest he should commit some folly.

He no longer belonged to himself.

His ladylove, with her feline suppleness, her nervous flexibility, had glided, little by little, into each fibre of his body.

This woman was as necessary to his life as eating and drinking.
He would certainly have committed some folly, had he not received a letter from Therese, asking him to remain at home the following evening.
His sweetheart promised him to call about eight o'clock.
On quitting the office, he got rid of Camille by saying he was tired, and should go to bed at once.

Therese, after dinner, also played her part.