The idea that the door of the shop would no doubt at last be closed to
them, terrified Michaud and Grivet, who clung to their habits with the
instinct and obstinacy of brutes. They said to themselves that the old
woman and young widow would one day go and weep over the defunct at
Vernon or elsewhere, and then, on Thursday nights, they would not know
what to do. In the mind's eye they saw themselves wandering about the
arcade in a lamentable fashion, dreaming of colossal games at dominoes.
Pending the advent of these bad times, they timidly enjoyed their final
moments of happiness, arriving with an anxious, sugary air at the shop,
and repeating to themselves, on each occasion, that they would perhaps
return no more. For over a year they were beset with these fears. In
face of the tears of Madame Raquin and the silence of Therese, they
dared not make themselves at ease and laugh. They felt they were no
longer at home as in the time of Camille; it seemed, so to say, that
they were stealing every evening they passed seated at the dining-room
table. It was in these desperate circumstances that the egotism of
Michaud urged him to strike a masterly stroke by finding a husband for
the widow of the drowned man.
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