THERESE RAQUIN
CHAPTER VIII
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 Therese 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 Therese 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
Therese 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.
Therese, 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 Therese.
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.
Therese, 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, Therese 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 Therese 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; Therese 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.