ps in the arcade were moved to pity. The dealer in
imitation jewelry pointed out the emaciated profile of the young widow
to each of her customers, as an interesting and lamentable curiosity.

For three days, Madame Raquin and Therese had remained in bed without
speaking, and without even seeing one another. The old mercer, propped
up by pillows in a sitting posture, gazed vaguely before her with the
eyes of an idiot. The death of her son had been like a blow on the head
that had felled her senseless to the ground. For hours she remained
tranquil and inert, absorbed in her despair; then she was at times
seized with attacks of weeping, shrieking and delirium.

Therese in the adjoining room, seemed to sleep. She had turned her face
to the wall, and drawn the sheet over her eyes. There she lay
stretched out at full length, rigid and mute, without a sob raising the
bed-clothes. It looked as if she was concealing the thoughts that made
her rigid in the darkness of the alcove.

Suzanne, who attended to the two women, went feebly from one to the
other, gently dragging her feet along the floor, bending her wax-like
countenance over the two couches, without succeeding in persuading
Therese, who had sudden fits of impatience, to turn round, or in
consoling Madame Raquin, whose tears began to flow as soon as a voice
drew her from her prostration.

On the third day, Therese, rapidly and with a sort of feverish decision,
threw the sheet from her, and seated herself up in bed. She thrust back
her hair from her temples, and for a moment remained with her hands to
her forehead and her eyes fixed, seeming still to reflect. Then, she
sprang to the carpet. Her limbs were shivering, and red with fever;
large livid patches marbled her skin, which had become wrinkled in
places as if she had lost flesh. She had grown older.

Suzanne, on entering the room, was struck with surprise to find her
up. In a placid, drawling tone, she advised her to go to bed again, and
continue resting. Therese paid no heed to her, but sought her clothes
and put them on with hurried, trembling gestures. When she was dressed,
she went and looked at herself in a glass, rubbing her eyes, and passing
her hands over her countenance, as if to efface something. Then, without
pronouncing a syllable, she quickly crossed the dining-room and entered
the apartment occupied by Madame Raquin.

She caught the old mercer in a moment of doltish calm. When Therese
appeared, she