But Hyacinthe was lying on top of it--then he reflected that the bed was deranged and the thought affected him, because he liked to be snug in winter, and knowing himself incapable of respreading the covers, he foresaw a cold night.
Once more, he was enlaced; the gripe of the woman's on his own was renewed; rational, this time, he attended to her and crushed her with mighty caresses.

In a changed voice, lower, more guttural, she uttered ignoble things and silly cries which gave him pain--"My dear!--oh, hon!--oh I can't stand it!"-- aroused nevertheless, he took this body which creaked as it writhed, and he experienced the extraordinary sensation of a spasmodic burning within a swaddle of ice-packs.
He finally jumped over her, out of bed, and lighted the candles.

On the dresser the cat sat motionless, considering Durtal and Mme.

Chantelouve alternately.

Durtal saw an inexpressible mockery in those black eyes and, irritated, chased the beast away.
He put some more wood on the fire, dressed, and started to leave the room.