The murderers, one seated on each side of her, silent and motionless,
seemed to be attentively listening to what she said. In truth they did
not attempt to follow the sense of the gossip of the good old lady. They
were simply pleased to hear this sound of soft words which prevented
them attending the crash of their own thoughts. They dared not
cast their eyes on one another, but looked at Madame Raquin to give
themselves countenances. They never breathed a word about going to
bed; they would have remained there until morning, listening to the
affectionate nonsense of the former mercer, amid the appeasement she
spread around her, had she not herself expressed the desire to retire.
It was only then that they quitted the dining-room and entered their
own apartment in despair, as if casting themselves to the bottom of an
abyss.
But they soon had much more preference for the Thursday gatherings,
than for these family evenings. When alone with Madame Raquin, they were
unable to divert their thoughts; the feeble voice of their aunt, and her
tender gaiety, did not stifle the cries that lacerated them. They could
feel bedtime coming on, and they shuddered when their eyes caught sight
of the door of their room.
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