ompany,
where he now held the position of head clerk, and earned 2,100 francs
a year. It was he who gave out the work in the office where Camille had
found employment, and the latter showed him certain respect. Camille, in
his day dreams, had said to himself that Grivet would one day die,
and that he would perhaps take his place at the end of a decade or
so. Grivet was delighted at the welcome Madame Raquin gave him, and
he returned every week with perfect regularity. Six months later, his
Thursday visit had become, in his way of thinking, a duty: he went
to the Arcade of the Pont Neuf, just as he went every morning to his
office, that is to say mechanically, and with the instinct of a brute.

From this moment, the gatherings became charming. At seven o'clock
Madame Raquin lit the fire, set the lamp in the centre of the table,
placed a box of dominoes beside it, and wiped the tea service which was
in the sideboard. Precisely at eight o'clock old Michaud and Grivet met
before the shop, one coming from the Rue de Seine, and the other from
the Rue Mazarine. As soon as they entered, all the family went up to the
first floor. There, in the dining-room, they seated themselves round the
table waiting for Olivier Michaud and his wife who always arrived late.
When the party was complete, Madame Raquin poured out the tea. Camille
emptied the box of dominoes on the oilcloth table cover, and everyone
became deeply interested in their hands. Henceforth nothing could be
heard but the jingle of dominoes. At the end of each game, the players
quarrelled for two or three minutes, then mournful silence was resumed,
broken by the sharp clanks of the dominoes.

Therese played with an indifference that irritated Camille. She took
Francois, the great tabby cat that Madame Raquin had brought from
Vernon, on her lap, caressing it with one hand, whilst she placed her
dominoes with the other. These Thursday evenings were a torture to her.
Frequently she complained of being unwell, of a bad headache, so as not
to play, and remain there doing nothing, and half asleep. An elbow on
the table, her cheek resting on the palm of her hand, she watched the
guests of her aunt and husband through a sort of yellow, smoky mist
coming from the lamp. All these faces exasperated her. She looked from
one to the other in profound disgust and secret irritation.

Old Michaud exhibited a pasty countenance, spotted with red blotches,
one of those death-like faces of