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They appeared calm and happy, and instinctively concealed their troubles. To see them so tranquil in the daytime, no one would have suspected the hallucinations that tortured them every night. They would have been taken for a couple blessed by heaven, and living in the enjoyment of full felicity. Grivet gallantly called them the "turtle-doves."
"Of course," said Grivet, "she wants something. Oh! We thoroughly understand one another. She wants to play dominoes. Eh! Isn't it so, dear lady?" Madame Raquin made a violent sign indicating that she wanted nothing of the kind. She extended one finger, folded up the others with infinite difficulty, and began to painfully trace letters on the table cover.
The Michauds and Grivet alone were invited. Until six in the evening, the wedding party drove along the boulevards, and then repaired to the cheap eating-house where a table was spread with seven covers in a small private room painted yellow, and reeking of dust and wine. The repast was not accompanied by much gaiety. The newly married pair were grave and thoughtful.
While Madame Raquin went to fetch the box, the young man, addressing Michaud, continued: "Then you admit the police are powerless, that there are murderers walking about in the sunshine?" "Unfortunately, yes," answered the commissary. "It is immoral," concluded Grivet. During this conversation, Therese and Laurent had remained silent. They had not even smiled at the folly of Grivet.
"We are all mortal," affirmed Grivet. "Your tears will not restore your son to you," sententiously observed Olivier. "Do not cause us pain, I beg you," murmured Suzanne. And as Madame Raquin sobbed louder, unable to restrain her tears, Michaud resumed: "Come, come, have a little courage. You know we come here to give you some distraction. Then do not let us feel sad. Let us try to forget.
Then, she feebly agitated the fingers as if to attract attention. When the players perceived this lifeless hand, white and nerveless, before them, they were exceedingly surprised. Grivet stopped short, with his arm in the air, at the moment when he was about to play the double-six. Since the impotent woman had been struck down, she had never moved her hands. "Hey!
On the Thursday following the marriage, Grivet and Michaud made a triumphant entry into the dining-room. They had conquered. The dining-room belonged to them again. They no longer feared dismissal. They came there as happy people, stretching out their legs, and cracking their former jokes, one after the other.
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."
Olivier thought this a capital opportunity for introducing his little joke. "You see," said he, displaying his yellow teeth, "this apartment savours of honest people: that is why we are so comfortable here." Grivet, annoyed at being forestalled, began to declaim with an emphatic gesture: "This room is the Temple of Peace!"
Olivier, with the jest of a person connected with the police, was in the habit of remarking that the dining-room savoured of the honest man. Grivet, so as to have his say, had called the place the Temple of Peace. Latterly, on two or three different occasions, Therese explained the bruises disfiguring her face, by telling the guests she had fallen down.
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