e in the
face.

The young woman, attired in black, pale and meditative, seemed to him to
possess a beauty that he had hitherto ignored. He was happy to meet
her eyes, and to see them rest upon his own with courageous fixedness.
Therese still belonged to him, heart and soul.

CHAPTER XVI

A fortnight passed. The bitterness of the first hours was softening;
each day brought additional tranquillity and calm; life resumed its
course with weary languidness, and with the monotonous intellectual
insensibility which follows great shocks. At the commencement, Laurent
and Therese allowed themselves to drift into this new existence which
was transforming them; within their beings was proceeding a silent
labour which would require analysing with extreme delicacy if one
desired to mark all its phases.

It was not long before Laurent came every night to the shop as formerly.
But he no longer dined there, he no longer made the place a lounge
during the entire evening. He arrived at half-past nine, and remained
until he had put up the shutters. It seemed as if he was accomplishing a
duty in placing himself at the service of the two women. If he happened
occasionally to neglect the tiresome job, he apologised with the
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