led with much water, an unusual thing in those days. The syphilis of former generations had given him the transparent complexion of a wax doll whose very colour had disappeared by having been too often scoured. There was besides not the tiniest stain or the slightest speck of dirt on his well-brushed clothes, moreover he always carried about him a smell of laundry, of clean linen, and sweet lavender.
As soon as the cousin left, the old dame and the young girl rubbed their cheeks together—the French fashion of kissing amongst women—and retired to their rooms, for the town kept early hours. At half past ten all the house was fast asleep.
Camille—having gone to bed—lay awake some time in a state of nervous exhaustion. By degrees her eye-lids grew heavy and she managed to get a few snatches of half conscious slumbers. Still, hardly had she fallen asleep than she woke in the midst of a dream, haunted by the vague terror of having to fall into the clutches of the youth who had a spell over her. Little by little her fears were calmed, her senses grew drowsy, and about
34
