so far as to tell the young man that it was clearly his duty to give a
son to Madame Raquin and a husband to Therese.

Little by little Laurent allowed himself to be won over, feigning to
give way to emotion, to accept the idea of this marriage as one fallen
from the clouds, dictated by feelings of devotedness and duty, as old
Michaud had said. When the latter had obtained a formal answer in the
affirmative, he parted with his companion, rubbing his hands, for he
fancied he had just gained a great victory. He prided himself on having
had the first idea of this marriage which would convey to the Thursday
evenings all their former gaiety.

While Michaud was talking with Laurent, slowly following the quays,
Madame Raquin had an almost identical conversation with Therese. At the
moment when her niece, pale and unsteady in gait, as usual, was about to
retire to rest, the old mercer detained her an instant. She questioned
her in a tender tone, imploring her to be frank, and confess the cause
of the trouble that overwhelmed her. Then, as she only obtained vague
replies, she spoke of the emptiness of widowhood, and little by little
came to talk in a more precise manner of the offer of a second marriage,
concluding by asking Therese, plainly, whether she had not a secret
desire to marry again.

Therese protested, saying that such a thought had never entered her
mind, and that she intended remaining faithful to Camille. Madame
Raquin began to weep. Pleading against her heart, she gave her niece to
understand that despair should not be eternal; and, finally, in response
to an exclamation of the young woman saying she would never replace
Camille, Madame Raquin abruptly pronounced the name of Laurent. Then she
enlarged with a flood of words on the propriety and advantages of such