d 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
lady, and it is good, believe me."

Madame Raquin could not, at first, accustom herself to the thought that
her son was already forgotten. Old Michaud had not even pronounced
the name of Camille, and had made a joke of the pretended illness of
Therese. The poor mother understood that she alone preserved at the
bottom of her heart, the living recollection of her dear child, and she
wept, for it seemed to her that Camille had just died a second time.

Then, when she had had a good cry, and was weary of mourning, she
thought, in spite of herself, of what Michaud had said, and became
familiar with the idea of purchasing a little happiness at the cost of a
marriage which, according to her delicate mind, was like killing her son
again.

Frequently, she gave way to feelings of cowardice when she came face to
face with the dejected and broken-down Therese, amidst the icy silence
of the shop. She was not one of those dry, rigid persons who find bitter
delight in living a life of eternal despair. Her character was full of
pliancy, devotedness, and effusion, which contributed to make up her
temperament of a stout and affable good lady, and prompted her to live
in a state of active tenderness.

Since her niece no longer spoke, and remained there pale and feeble, her
own life became intolerable, while the shop seemed to her like a tomb.
W