Therese Raquin - Emile Zola [65]
When she heard this, Thérèse let go of Laurent’s hand. It was as though she had received a blow in the chest. She was overwhelmed by her lover’s effrontery. She stared at him with haggard eyes while Mme Raquin, choking with sobs, stammered out:
‘Yes, yes, my dear, marry her, make her happy; my son will thank you from the depths of his grave.’
Laurent felt that he was weakening, and leaned against the back of a chair. Michaud, also moved to tears, pushed him towards Thérèse, saying:
‘Kiss one another. This will be your engagement.’
The young man had a strange feeling as he put his lips on the widow’s cheeks, and she shrank back as though burned by the two kisses that her lover had given here. This was the first time that the man had kissed her before witnesses. The blood rushed to her face and she felt hot and uncomfortable — though she had no feelings of shame and had never blushed at the intimacies of their love-making.
After this crisis was over, the two murderers relaxed. Their marriage was fixed and they were at last reaching the goal that they had been pursuing for so long. Everything was agreed upon that very evening. On the following Thursday, the engagement was announced to Grivet, Olivier and his wife. Michaud was delighted to relay the news, rubbing his hands and saying again and again:
‘It was my idea, I married them ... You see what a fine couple they’ll make!’
Suzanne came over in silence to kiss Thérèse. This poor creature, pale and lifeless, had conceived a feeling of friendship for the dark, rigid young widow. She loved her as a child might, with a sort of respectful terror. Olivier complimented the aunt and the niece, while Grivet risked a few vulgar jokes, which did not go down well. In short, they were all thoroughly delighted and declared that everything was for the best. To be honest, they already saw themselves at the wedding.
Thérèse and Laurent maintained an attitude that was restrained and cautious. They demonstrated feelings for one another that were nothing more than considerate and affectionate. They gave the impression of carrying out an act of supreme self-sacrifice. Nothing in their appearance betrayed the terrors and desires that agitated them. Mme Raquin gave them faint smiles, and gentle, grateful looks of benevolence.
There were a few formalities to complete. Laurent had to write to his father to ask for the old man’s consent. The peasant of Jeufosse, who had almost forgotten that he had a son in Paris, replied in four lines that he could marry or get himself hanged if he wished. He let it be known that, since he had resolved never to give him a penny, he left him to look after himself and authorized him to commit any act of folly that he wished. Laurent was peculiarly unsettled by this kind of authorization.
After Mme Raquin had read the letter from this unnatural father, she had a surge of generosity that drove her to do something silly. She settled on her niece the forty-odd thousand francs that she owned, renouncing everything for the sake of the young couple and entrusting herself to their goodwill, because she wanted all her happiness to flow from them. Laurent was contributing nothing to their finances, and even suggested that he would not stick at his job for ever, but might go back to painting. In any event, the little family’s future was assured: the income from the forty-odd thousand francs, together with the profits from the haberdashery business, should be enough to let three people live comfortably. They would have just enough to be happy.
The preparations for the wedding were speeded up. The formalities were reduced to a minimum. You might have thought that everyone was in a hurry to drive Laurent into Thérèse’s bed. At last the longed-for day arrived.
XX
On the morning, Laurent and Thérèse both woke up in their separate rooms with the same profoundly joyful thought: they told themselves that their last