Then came a silence which was broken by Laurent who remarked: “I had a day dream. Camille met with an accident and died, and I became your husband. Do you understand?” “Yes, yes,” answered Thérèse, shuddering. Then, abruptly bending over the face of Laurent, she smothered it with kisses, and bursting into sobs, uttered these disjoined sentences amidst her tears: “Don’t talk like that, for if you do, I shall lack the strength to leave you. I shall remain here. Give me courage rather. Tell me we shall see one another again. You have need of me, have you not? Well, one of these days we shall find a way to live together.” “Then come back, come back to-morrow,” said Laurent. “But I cannot return,” she answered. “I have told you. I have no pretext.” She wrung her hands and continued: “Oh! I do not fear the scandal. If you like, when I get back, I will tell Camille you are my sweetheart, and return here. I am trembling for you. I do not wish to disturb your life. I want to make you happy.” The prudent instincts of the young man were awakened. “You are right,” said he. “We must not behave like children. Ah! if your husband were to die!” “If my husband were to die,” slowly repeated Thérèse. “We would marry,” he continued, “and have nothing more to fear. What a nice, gentle life it would be!” The young woman stood up erect. Her cheeks were pale, and she looked at her sweetheart with a clouded brow, while her lips were twitching. “Sometimes people die,” she murmured at last. “Only it is dangerous for those who survive.” Laurent did not reply. “You see,” she continued, “all the methods that are known are bad.” “You misunderstood me,” said he quietly. “I am not a fool, I wish to love you in peace. I was thinking that accidents happen daily, that a foot may slip, a tile may fall. You understand. In the latter event, the wind alone is guilty.” He spoke in a strange voice. Then he smiled, and added in a caressing tone: “Never mind, keep quiet. We will love one another fondly, and live happily. As you are unable to come here, I will arrange matters. Should we remain a few months without seeing one another, do not forget me, and bear in mind that I am labouring for your felicity.” As Thérèse opened the door to leave, he seized her in his arms. “You are mine, are you not?” he continued. “You swear to belong to me, at any hour, when I choose.” “Yes!” exclaimed the young woman. “I am yours, do as you please with me.” For a moment they remained locked together and mute. Then Thérèse tore herself roughly away, and, without turning her head, quitted the garret and went downstairs. Laurent listened to the sound of her footsteps fading away. When he heard the last of them, he returned to his wretched room, and went to bed. The sheets were still warm. Without closing the window, he lay on his back, his arms bare, his hands open, exposed to the fresh air. And he reflected, with his eyes on the dark blue square that the window framed in the sky.