When the blue eyes of
Suzanne, transparent as glass, rested fixedly on those of Therese, the
latter experienced a beneficent chill in the marrow of her bones.
Therese remained thus until four o'clock, when she returned to the
kitchen, and there again sought fatigue, preparing dinner for Laurent
with febrile haste. But when her husband appeared on the threshold she
felt a tightening in the throat, and all her being once more became a
prey to anguish.
Each day, the sensations of the couple were practically the same. During
the daytime, when they were not face to face, they enjoyed delightful
hours of repose; at night, as soon as they came together, both
experienced poignant discomfort.
The evenings, nevertheless, were calm. Therese and Laurent, who
shuddered at the thought of going to their room, sat up as long as
possible. Madame Raquin, reclining in a great armchair, was placed
between them, and chatted in her placid voice. She spoke of Vernon,
still thinking of her son, but avoiding to mention him from a sort of
feeling of diffidence for the others; she smiled at her dear children,
and formed plans for their future. The lamp shed its faint gleams on her
white face, and her words sounded particularly sweet in the silence and
stillness of the room.
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