Thérèse Raquin Read Online Free PDF Page A

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 an old man fallen into second
childhood; Grivet had the narrow visage, the round eyes, the thin lips
of an idiot. Olivier, whose bones were piercing his cheeks, gravely
carried a stiff, insignificant head on a ridiculous body; as to Suzanne,
the wife of Olivier, she was quite pale, with expressionless eyes, white
lips, and a soft face. And Therese could not find one human being, not
one living being among these grotesque and sinister creatures, with whom
she was shut up; sometimes she had hallucinations, she imagined herself
buried at the bottom of a tomb, in company with mechanical corpses, who,
when the strings were pulled, moved their heads, and agitated their
legs and arms. The thick atmosphere of the dining-room stifled her; the
shivering silence, the yellow gleams of the lamp penetrated her with
vague terror, and inexpressible anguish.
    Below, to the door of the shop, they had fixed a bell whose sharp tinkle
announced the entrance of customers. Therese had her ear on the alert;
and when the bell rang, she rapidly ran downstairs quite relieved,
delighted at being able to quit the dining-room. She slowly served the
purchaser, and when she found herself alone, she sat down behind the
counter where she remained as long as possible, dreading going upstairs
again, and in the enjoyment of real pleasure at no longer having Grivet
and Olivier before her eyes. The damp air of the shop calmed the burning
fever of her hands, and she again fell into the customary grave reverie.
    But she could not remain like this for long. Camille became angry at her
absence. He failed to comprehend how anyone could prefer the shop to the
dining-room on a Thursday evening, and he leant over the banister, to
look for his wife.
    "What's the matter?" he would shout. "What are you doing there? Why
don't you come up? Grivet has the devil's own luck. He has just won
again."
    The young woman rose painfully, and ascending to the dining-room resumed
her seat opposite old Michaud, whose pendent lips gave heartrending
smiles. And, until eleven o'clock, she remained oppressed in her chair,
watching Francois whom she held in her arms, so as to avoid seeing the
cardboard dolls grimacing around her.

Chapter V
*
    One Thursday, Camille, on returning from his office, brought with him a
great fellow with square shoulders, whom he pushed in a familiar manner
into the shop.
    "Mother," he said to Madame Raquin, pointing to the newcomer, "do you
recognise this gentleman?"
    The old mercer looked at the strapping blade, seeking among her
recollections and finding nothing, while Therese placidly observed the
scene.
    "What!" resumed Camille, "you don't recognise Laurent, little Laurent,
the son of daddy Laurent who owns those beautiful fields of corn out
Jeufosse way. Don't you remember? I went to school with him; he came
to fetch me of a morning on leaving the house of his uncle, who was our
neighbour, and you used to give him slices of bread and jam."
    All at once Madame Raquin recollected little Laurent, whom she found
very much grown. It was quite ten years since she had seen him. She now
did her best to make him forget her lapse of memory in greeting him,
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