Therese Raquin - Emile Zola [51]
The young woman, dressed in black, pale and thoughtful, possessed a beauty that he had not previously seen in her. He was happy to meet her eyes and to see them stop and gaze at his with unblinking courage. Thérèse still belonged to him, body and soul.
XVI
Fifteen months went by. The anguish of the first moments was mitigated, and every day brought greater peace and relaxation. Life resumed its course with weary languor, taking on that state of monotonous lethargy that follows a great crisis. And, at the start, Laurent and Thérèse allowed themselves to be carried along by this new life as it transformed them, working away secretly inside them in a way that will have to be analysed very minutely if one is to establish all its phases.
Soon Laurent was coming back every evening to the shop, as in the past. But he no longer dined there or settled down for a whole evening. He would arrive at half past nine and leave after closing the shop. It appeared as though he was fulfilling a duty by coming in to help the two women. If he neglected this task for one day, he would apologize the next as humbly as a servant. On Thursday, he helped Mme Raquin to light the fire and welcome her guests. He was quietly attentive in a way that charmed the old woman.
Thérèse would calmly watch him fussing around her. Her face had lost its pallor and she seemed more well, more cheerful and more gentle. Only very occasionally did her mouth twist in a nervous contraction, making two deep lines that gave her a strange expression of pain and terror.
The two lovers did not try to see one another alone. Neither of them ever asked the other for a meeting and they never exchanged a furtive kiss. It was as though the murder had, for the time being, calmed the lustful fever of their flesh and, in killing Camille, they had managed to assuage the raging and insatiable desire that they had been unable to satisfy in one another’s arms. They experienced in their crime a sensation of gratification so intense that it sickened them and made their embraces repulsive.
None the less, they could have had a thousand opportunities to lead the very life of free love that they had dreamed about and which had driven them to murder. Mme Raquin, confused and debilitated, was not an obstacle. The house was theirs; they could leave it and go wherever they wished. But love no longer appealed to them, their appetite had faded, and they stayed there, calmly chatting, looking at one another without blushing, without trembling, having apparently forgotten the wild embraces that had bruised their flesh and made their bones crack. They even avoided being alone together; when they were, they could find nothing to say and each of them was afraid of appearing too cold towards the other. When they shook hands, they felt a kind of unease at the touch of their skin.
Anyway, they both thought they could explain what made them so indifferent and fearful towards one another. They put their coldness down to caution. In their view, this calm and abstinence were the fruit of great wisdom. They claimed that the passivity of their flesh and the sleep in their hearts were voluntary. Moreover, they considered the repugnance and anxiety that they felt as a vague, lingering fear of punishment. Sometimes they would force themselves to hope, trying to recover the ardent dreams of former times, only to be quite amazed when they found that their imaginations were empty. So they clung to the idea of their forthcoming marriage. Once they had reached their goal, with nothing more to fear, belonging to one another, they would rediscover their passion and enjoy the delights that they had imagined. This hope soothed them and prevented them from plumbing the depths of the void that had opened up inside them. They persuaded themselves that they loved one another as they had done in the past and awaited the moment that would make them perfectly happy by