At times he questioned himself with astonishment, fancying he had had a bad dream.

He asked himself whether it was really true that he had flung Camille into the water, and had seen his corpse on the slab at the Morgue.
The recollection of his crime caused him strange surprise; never could he have imagined himself capable of murder.

He so prudent, so cowardly, shuddered at the mere thought, ice-like beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead when he reflected that the authorities might have discovered his crime and guillotined him.

Then he felt the cold knife on his neck.

So long as he had acted, he had gone straight before him, with the obstinacy and blindness of a brute.