The strain on their nerves threatened an attack, they might cry out, perhaps fight.

Laurent, to drive away his recollections, violently tore himself from the ecstasy of horror that enthralled him in the gaze of Therese.

He took a few strides in the room; he removed his boots and put on slippers; then, returning to his former place, he sat down at the chimney corner, and tried to talk on matters of indifference.
Therese, understanding what he desired, strove to answer his questions.
They chatted about the weather, endeavouring to force on a commonplace conversation.

Laurent said the room was warm, and Therese replied that, nevertheless, a draught came from under the small door on the staircase, and both turned in that direction with a sudden shudder.

The young man hastened to speak about the roses, the fire, about everything he saw before him.