humility of a valet the following day. On Thursdays he assisted Madame
Raquin to light the fire, to do the honours of the house, and displayed
all kinds of gentle attentions that charmed the old mercer.

Therese peacefully watched the activity of his movements round about
her. The pallidness of her face had departed. She appeared in better
health, more smiling and gentle. It was only rarely that her lips,
becoming pinched in a nervous contraction, produced two deep pleats
which conveyed to her countenance a strange expression of grief and
fright.

The two sweethearts no longer sought to see one another in private. Not
once did they suggest a meeting, nor did they ever furtively exchange
a kiss. The murder seemed to have momentarily appeased their warmth. In
killing Camille, they had succeeded in satisfying their passion. Their
crime appeared to have given them a keen pleasure that sickened and
disgusted them of their embraces.

They had a thousand facilities for enjoying the freedom that had been
their dream, and the attainment of which had urged them on to murder.
Madame Raquin, impotent and childish, ceased to be an obstacle. The
house belonged to them. They could go abroad where they pleased. But
love did not trouble them, its fire had died out. They remained there,
calmly talking, looking at one another without reddening and without
a thrill. They even avoided being alone. In their intimacy, they found
nothing to say, and both were afraid that they appeared too cold.
When they exchanged a pressure of the hand, they experienced a sort of
discomfort at the touch of their skins.

Both imagined they could explain what made them so indifferent and