Laurence, pale, her eyes dry, remained upon the threshold, not daring to advance. She quivered and turned away her glances.
"Dead! dead!" she murmured, in a low voice.
And she took two or three steps, as if to see the better. Then, she stood still in the middle of the chamber, alone.
As for me, I yet held the corpse in my arms, I covered myself with it, I protected myself against Laurence who was approaching.
"Do not advance," cried I to her, harshly, "do not come here to soil this child who is sleeping. Remain where you are. I have to judge and condemn you."
"Claude," she answered, in a meek voice, "let me kiss her."
"No, no, your lips are all bruised with Jacques' kisses. You would profane the dead."
Jacques seemed to be asleep, his head in the sheet. Laurence fell upon her knees.
"Listen, Claude," she said, stretching out her hands towards me: "I know not what you see upon my lips, but do not speak to me with such harshness. I have need of gentleness."
I stared at this woman, who was humbly complaining, and I failed to recognize Laurence. I clasped Marie closer, fearing some weakness.