ked to always
have guests there, to hear a noise, something to divert her, and detach
her from her thoughts. In the presence of other people, she displayed a
sort of nervous gaiety. Laurent also recovered his previous merriment,
returning to his coarse peasant jests, his hoarse laughter, his
practical jokes of a former canvas dauber. Never had these gatherings
been so gay and noisy.

It was thus that Laurent and Therese could remain face to face, once a
week, without shuddering.

But they were soon beset with further anxiety. Paralysis was little by
little gaining on Madame Raquin, and they foresaw the day when she
would be riveted to her armchair, feeble and doltish. The poor old lady
already began to stammer fragments of disjointed phrases; her voice was
growing weaker, and her limbs were one by one losing their vitality.
She was becoming a thing. It was with terror that Therese and Laurent
observed the breaking up of this being who still separated them, and
whose voice drew them from their bad dreams. When the old mercer lost
her intelligence, and remained stiff and silent in her armchair, they
would find themselves alone, and in the evening would no longer be able
to escape the dreadful face to face conversation. Then their terror
would commence at six o'clock instead of midnight. It would drive them
mad.

They made every effort to give Madame Raquin that health which had
become so necessary to them. They called in doctors, and bestowed on the
patient all sorts of little attentions. Even this occupation of nurses
caused them to forget, and afforded them an appeasement that encouraged
them to double in zeal. They did not wish to lose a third party
who rendered their evenings supportable; and they did not wish the
dining-room and the whole house to become a cruel and sinister spot like
their room.

Madame Raquin was singularly touched at the assiduous care they took of
her. She applauded herself, amid tears, at having united them, and at
having abandoned to them her forty thousand francs. Never, since the
death of her son, had she counted on so much affection in her final
moments. Her old age was quite softened by the tenderness of her dear
children. She did not feel the implacable paralysis which, in spite of
all, made her more and more rigid day by day.

Nevertheless, Therese and Laurent continued to lead their double
existence. In each of them there were like two distinct beings: a
nervous, terrified being w