But she barely answered, a shiver ran through her frame, and she resumed her meditative trance.
Laurent, returning at night to the Rue Saint-Victor, reasoned with himself at length, discussing in his mind, whether he should become the lover of Therese, or not.
"Here is a little woman," said he to himself, "who will be my sweetheart whenever I choose.

She is always there, behind my back, examining, measuring me, summing me up.

She trembles.

She has a strange face that is mute and yet impassioned.

What a miserable creature that Camille is, to be sure." And Laurent inwardly laughed as he thought of his pale, thin friend.
Then he resumed: "She is bored to death in that shop.