He had driven away his thoughts, he had resisted the vigil.

Then, when he became appeased, when his strength failed and his will escaped him, his thoughts returned quietly, one by one, regaining possession of his faltering being.
His reverie began once more.

Again he went over the distance separating him from Therese: he went downstairs, he passed before the cellar at a run, and found himself outside the house; he took all the streets he had followed before, when he was dreaming with his eyes open; he entered the Arcade of the Pont Neuf, ascended the little staircase and scratched at the door.

But instead of Therese, it was Camille who opened the door, Camille, just as he had seen him at the Morgue, looking greenish, and atrociously disfigured.

The corpse extended his arms to him, with a vile laugh, displaying the tip of a blackish tongue between its white teeth.
Laurent shrieked, and awoke with a start.