The shock had been so painful, that for nothing in the world would he have received another.
He cast his eyes upon the woman with whom he was to live, and who sat shuddering, doubled up before the fire, turning her back to him; and he repeated to himself that he no longer loved this woman, and that she no longer loved him.
For nearly an hour Therese maintained her dejected attitude, while Laurent silently walked backward and forward.

Both inwardly acknowledged, with terror, that their passion was dead, that they had killed it in killing Camille.

The embers on the hearth were gently dying out; a sheet of bright, clear fire shone above the ashes.

Little by little, the heat of the room had become stifling; the flowers were fading, making the thick air sickly, with their heavy odour.
Laurent, all at once, had an hallucination.

As he turned round, coming from the window to the bed, he saw Camille in a dark corner, between the chimney and wardrobe.