He did not even remember her physiognomy now.

Mme.
Chantelouve, just as she was in reality, without borrowing the other's features, had complete possession of him and fired his brain and senses to white heat.

He began to desire her madly and to wish furiously for tomorrow night.

And if she did not come?
He felt cold in the small of his back at the idea that she might be unable to get away from home or that she might wilfully stay away.
"High time it was over and done with," he said, for this Saint Vitus' dance went on not without certain diminution of force, which disturbed him.

In fact he feared, after the febrile agitation of his nights, to reveal himself as a sorry paladin when the time came.