Never, since the
death of her son, had she counted on so much affection in her final
moments. Her old age was quite softened by the tenderness of her dear
children. She did not feel the implacable paralysis which, in spite of
all, made her more and more rigid day by day.
Nevertheless, Therese and Laurent continued to lead their double
existence. In each of them there were like two distinct beings: a
nervous, terrified being who shuddered as soon as dusk set in, and a
torpid forgetful being, who breathed at ease when the sun rose. They
lived two lives, crying out in anguish when alone, and peacefully
smiling in company. Never did their faces, in public, show the slightest
trace of the sufferings that had reached them in private. They appeared
calm and happy, and instinctively concealed their troubles.
To see them so tranquil in the daytime, no one would have suspected
the hallucinations that tortured them every night. They would have been
taken for a couple blessed by heaven, and living in the enjoyment of
full felicity. Grivet gallantly called them the "turtle-doves." When
he jested about their fatigued looks, Laurent and Therese barely turned
pale, and even succeeded in forcing on a smile.
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