r hatred and
cruelty. A sort of repulsion and attraction separated and kept them
together at the same time. They behaved in the identical manner of two
persons who, after quarrelling, wish to part, and who, nevertheless,
continue returning to shout out fresh insults at one another.

Moreover, material obstacles stood in the way of flight. What were
they to do with the impotent woman? What could be said to the Thursday
evening guests? If they fled, these people would, perhaps, suspect
something. At this thought, they imagined they were being pursued and
dragged to the guillotine. So they remained where they were through
cowardice, wretchedly dragging out their lives amidst the horror of
their surroundings.

During the morning and afternoon, when Laurent was absent, Therese went
from the dining-room to the shop in anxiety and trouble, at a loss to
know what to do to fill up the void in her existence that daily became
more pronounced. When not kneeling at the feet of Madame Raquin or
receiving blows and insults from her husband, she had no occupation. As
soon as she was seated alone in the shop, she became dejected, watching
with a doltish expression, the people passing through the dirty, dark
gallery. She felt ready to die of sadness in the middle of this gloomy
vault, which had the odour of a cemetery, and ended by begging Suzanne
to come and pass entire days with her, in the hope that the presence of
this poor, gentle, pale creature might calm her.

Suzanne accepted her offer with delight; she continued to feel a sort of
respectful friendship for Therese, and had long desired to come and work
with her, while Olivier was at his office. Bringing her embroidery with
her, she took the vacant chair of Madame Raquin behind the counter.

From that day Therese rather neglected her aunt. She went upstairs
less frequently to weep on her knees and kiss the deathlike face of the
invalid. She had something else to do. She made efforts to listen with
interest to the dilatory gossip of Suzanne, who spoke of her home, and
of the trivialities of her monotonous life. This relieved Therese of her
own thoughts. Sometimes she caught herself paying attention to nonsense
that brought a bitter smile to her face.

By degrees, she lost all her customers. Since her aunt had been confined
to her armchair upstairs, she had let the shop go from bad to worse,
abandoning the goods to dust and damp. A smell of mildew hung in the
atmosphere, spider