Therese paid no heed to her, but sought her clothes
and put them on with hurried, trembling gestures. When she was dressed,
she went and looked at herself in a glass, rubbing her eyes, and passing
her hands over her countenance, as if to efface something. Then, without
pronouncing a syllable, she quickly crossed the dining-room and entered
the apartment occupied by Madame Raquin.
She caught the old mercer in a moment of doltish calm. When Therese
appeared, she turned her head following the movements of the young widow
with her eyes, while the latter came and stood before her, mute and
oppressed. The two women contemplated one another for some seconds, the
niece with increasing anxiety, the aunt with painful efforts of memory.
Madame Raquin, at last remembering, stretched out her trembling arms,
and, taking Therese by the neck, exclaimed:
"My poor child, my poor Camille!"
She wept, and her tears dried on the burning skin of the young widow,
who concealed her own dry eyes in the folds of the sheet. Therese
remained bending down, allowing the old mother to exhaust her outburst
of grief. She had dreaded this first interview ever since the murder;
and had kept in bed to delay it, to reflect at ease on the terrible part
she had to play.
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