He suffered a little more by forcing himself
into a dissolute mode of life, and that was all. Then, when he returned
home, when he saw Madame Raquin and Therese again, his weariness brought
on frightful fits of terror. And he vowed he would leave the house
no more, that he would put up with his suffering, so as to become
accustomed to it, and be able to conquer it.
For a month Therese lived, like Laurent, on the pavement and in the
cafes. She returned daily for a moment, in the evening to feed Madame
Raquin and put her to bed, and then disappeared again until the morrow.
She and her husband on one occasion were four days without setting eyes
on each other. At last, she experienced profound disgust at the life
she was leading, feeling that vice succeeded no better with her than the
comedy of remorse.
In vain had she dragged through all the lodging-houses in the Latin
Quarter, in vain had she led a low, riotous life. Her nerves were
ruined. Debauchery ceased to give her a sufficiently violent shock to
render her oblivious of the past. She resembled one of those drunkards
whose scorched palates remain insensible to the most violent spirits.
She had done with lust, and the society of her paramours only worried
and wearied her.
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