she never took her eyes off her niece, and it was with terror that she
watched her sadness, wondering what she could do to cure her of her
silent despair.

Under these grave circumstances, she thought she ought to take the
advice of her old friend Michaud. One Thursday evening, she detained him
in the shop, and spoke to him of her alarm.

"Of course," answered the old man, with that frank brutality he had
acquired in the performance of his former functions, "I have noticed for
some time past that Therese has been looking sour, and I know very well
why her face is quite yellow and overspread with grief."

"You know why!" exclaimed the widow. "Speak out at once. If we could
only cure her!"

"Oh! the treatment is simple," resumed Michaud with a laugh. "Your niece
finds life irksome because she had been alone for nearly two years. She
wants a husband; you can see that in her eyes."

The brutal frankness of the former commissary, gave Madame Raquin a
painful shock. She fancied that the wound Therese had received through
the fatal accident at Saint-Ouen, was still as fresh, still as cruel
at the bottom of her heart. It seemed to her that her son, once dead,
Therese could have no thought for a husband, and here was Michaud
affirming, with a hearty laugh, that Therese was out of sorts because
she wanted one.

"Marry her as soon as you can," said he, as he took himself off, "if you
do not wish to see her shrivel up entirely. That is my advice, my dear