sweethearts in the presence of company.

Waiting had extinguished the flame that had formerly fired them. All
the past had disappeared. They had forgotten their violent passion,
they forgot even their joy of the morning, that profound joy they had
experienced at the thought that they would no more be afraid. They were
simply wearied and bewildered at all that was taking place. The
events of the day turned round and round in their heads, appearing
incomprehensible and monstrous. They sat there mute and smiling,
expecting nothing, hoping for nothing. Mingled with their dejection of
spirits, was a restless anxiety that proved vaguely painful.

At every movement Laurent made with his neck, he felt a sharp burn
devouring his flesh; his collar cut and pinched the bite of Camille.
While the mayor read out to him the law bearing on marriage, while the
priest spoke to him of the Almighty, at every minute of this long day,
he had felt the teeth of the drowned man entering his skin. At times,
he imagined a streak of blood was running down his chest, and would
bespatter his white waistcoat with crimson.

Madame Raquin was inwardly grateful to the newly married couple for
their gravity. Noisy joy would have wounded the poor mother. In her
mind, her son was there, invisible, handing Therese over to Laurent.

Grivet had other ideas. He considered the wedding party sad, and wanted
to enliven it, notwithstanding the looks of Michaud and Olivier which
riveted him to his chair each time he wished to get up and say something
silly. Nevertheless, he managed to rise once and propose a toast.

"I drink to the offspring of monsieur and madame," quoth he in a