There she lay
stretched out at full length, rigid and mute, without a sob raising the
bed-clothes. It looked as if she was concealing the thoughts that made
her rigid in the darkness of the alcove.
Suzanne, who attended to the two women, went feebly from one to the
other, gently dragging her feet along the floor, bending her wax-like
countenance over the two couches, without succeeding in persuading
Therese, who had sudden fits of impatience, to turn round, or in
consoling Madame Raquin, whose tears began to flow as soon as a voice
drew her from her prostration.
On the third day, Therese, rapidly and with a sort of feverish decision,
threw the sheet from her, and seated herself up in bed. She thrust back
her hair from her temples, and for a moment remained with her hands to
her forehead and her eyes fixed, seeming still to reflect. Then, she
sprang to the carpet. Her limbs were shivering, and red with fever;
large livid patches marbled her skin, which had become wrinkled in
places as if she had lost flesh. She had grown older.
Suzanne, on entering the room, was struck with surprise to find her
up. In a placid, drawling tone, she advised her to go to bed again, and
continue resting.
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