Laurent was perfectly happy of an evening, in the shop. He generally
returned from the office with Camille. Madame Raquin had formed quite
a motherly affection for him. She knew he was short of cash, and
indifferently nourished, that he slept in a garret; and she had told
him, once for all, that a seat would always be kept for him at their
table. She liked this young fellow with that expansive feeling that old
women display for people who come from their own part of the country,
bringing with them memories of the past.
The young man took full advantage of this hospitality. Before going to
dinner, after leaving the office for the night, he and Camille went for
a stroll on the quays. Both found satisfaction in this intimacy. They
dawdled along, chatting with one another, which prevented them feeling
dull, and after a time decided to go and taste the soup prepared by
Madame Raquin. Laurent opened the shop door as if he were master of
the house, seated himself astride a chair, smoking and expectorating as
though at home.
The presence of Thérèse did not embarrass him in the least. He treated
the young woman with friendly familiarity, paying her commonplace
compliments without a line of his face becoming disturbed. Camille
laughed, and, as his wife confined herself to answering his friend in
monosyllables, he firmly believed they detested one another. One day he
even reproached Thérèse with what he termed her coldness for Laurent.
Laurent had made a correct guess: he had become the sweetheart of the
woman, the friend of the husband, the spoilt child of the mother. Never
had he enjoyed such a capital time. His position in the family struck
him as quite natural. He was on the most friendly terms with Camille,
in regard to whom he felt neither anger nor remorse. He was so sure of
being prudent and calm that he did not even keep watch on his gestures
and speech. The egotism he displayed in the enjoyment of his good
fortune, shielded him from any fault. All that kept him from kissing
Thérèse in the shop was the fear that he would not be allowed to come
any more. He would not have cared a bit about hurting Camille and his
mother.
Thérèse, who was of a more nervous and quivering temperament, was
compelled to play a part, and she played it to perfection, thanks to the
clever hypocrisy she had acquired in her bringing up. For nearly fifteen
years, she had been lying, stifling her fever, exerting an implacable
will to appear gloomy and half asleep. It cost her nothing to keep this
mask on her face, which gave her an appearance of icy frigidity.
When Laurent entered the shop, he found her glum, her nose longer, her
lips thinner. She was ugly, cross, unapproachable. Nevertheless, she
did not exaggerate her effects, but only played her former part, without
awakening attention by greater harshness. She experienced extraordinary
pleasure in deceiving Camille and Madame Raquin. She was aware she was
doing wrong, and at times she felt a ferocious desire to rise from table
and smother Laurent with kisses, just to show her husband and aunt that
she was not a fool, and that she had a sweetheart.
At moments, she felt giddy with joy; good actress as she proved
herself, she could not on such occasions refrain from singing, when her
sweetheart did not happen to be there, and she had no fear of betraying
herself. These sudden outbursts of gaiety charmed Madame Raquin, who
taxed her niece with being too serious. The young woman, moreover,
decked the window of her room with pots of flowers, and then had new
paper hung in the apartment. After this she wanted a carpet, curtains
and rosewood furniture.
The nature of the circumstances seemed to have made this woman for this
man, and to have thrust one towards the other. The two together, the
woman nervous and hypocritical, the man sanguineous and leading the
life of a brute, formed a powerful couple allied. The one completed the
other, and they mutually protected themselves. At night, at table, in
the pale light of the lamp, one felt the strength of their union, at
the sight of the heavy, smiling face of Laurent, opposite the mute,
impenetrable mask of Thérèse.
Those evenings were pleasant and calm. In the silence, in the
transparent shadow and cool atmosphere, arose friendly conversation.
The family and their guest sat close together round the table. After
the dessert, they chatted about a thousand trifles of the day, about
incidents that had occurred the day before, about their hopes for the
morrow.
Camille liked Laurent, as much as he was capable of liking anybody,
after the fashion of a contented egotist, and Laurent seemed to show him
equal attachment. Between them there was an exchange of kind sentences,
of obliging gestures, and thoughtful attentions. Madame Raquin, with
placid countenance, contributed her peacefulness to the tranquillity
of the scene, which resembled a gathering of old friends who knew one
another to the heart, and who confidently relied on the faith of their
friendship.
Thérèse, motionless, peaceful like the others, observed this joy, this
smiling depression of these people of the middle class, and in her heart
there was savage laughter; all her being jeered, but her face maintained
its frigid rigidity. Ah! how she deceived these worthy people, and how
delighted she was to deceive them with such triumphant impudence. Her
sweetheart, at this moment, was like a person unknown to her, a comrade
of her husband, a sort of simpleton and interloper concerning whom she
had no need to concern herself. This atrocious comedy, these duperies of
life, this comparison between the burning kisses in the daytime, and the
indifference played at night, gave new warmth to the blood of the young
woman.
When by chance Madame Raquin and Camille went downstairs, Thérèse
bounded from her chair, to silently, and with brutal energy, press her
lips to those of her sweetheart, remaining thus breathless and choking
until she heard the stairs creak. Then, she briskly seated herself
again, and resumed her glum grimace, while Laurent calmly continued the
interrupted conversation with Camille. It was like a rapid, blinding
flash of lightning in a leaden sky.
On Thursday, the evening became a little more animated. Laurent,
although bored to death, nevertheless made a point of not missing one
of these gatherings. As a measure of prudence he desired to be known and
esteemed by the friends of Camille. So he had to lend an ear to the idle
talk of Grivet and old Michaud. The latter always related the same tales
of robbery and murder, while Grivet spoke at the same time about his
clerks, his chiefs, and his administration, until the young man
sought refuge beside Olivier and Suzanne, whose stupidity seemed less
wearisome. But he soon asked for the dominoes.
It was on Thursday evening that Laurent and Thérèse arranged the day
and hour of their meeting. In the bustle attending the departure, when
Madame Raquin and Camille accompanied the guest to the door of the
arcade, the young woman approached Laurent, to whom she spoke in an
undertone, as she pressed his hand. At times, when all had turned their
backs, she kissed him, out of a sort of bravado.
The life of shocks and appeasements, lasted eight months. The
sweethearts lived in complete beatitude; Thérèse no longer felt dull,
and was perfectly contented. Laurent satiated, pampered, fatter than
before, had but one fear, that of seeing this delightful existence come
to an end.