The coachman watched Thérèse with greedy curiosity. When she asked him if they would get to Nizan station in time to catch the last train, he said they would if they started at once. “I shall not need to trouble you again, Gardère.” “Has Madame no more business here, then?” She shook her head, while the man still devoured her with his eyes. Would she be looked at like that for the rest of her life? “Well, are you glad?” asked her father. He seemed at last to have noticed her presence. Thérèse glanced at that sallow bilious countenance, those cheeks bristling with a coarse growth of whitish-yellow hair, so painfully distinct in the light of the carriage lamps. “I have suffered so much,--I am worn out ...” she began, in low tones; but she soon relapsed into silence. It was no use talking; he was not listening, he was not even looking at her. He cared very little about Thérèse’s feelings. One thing and one thing only mattered to him; his upward progress to the Senate might be impeded and even endangered by this wretched daughter of his: all women, in his opinion, were either hysterical or stupid. Fortunately her name was no longer Larroque: she was a Desqueyroux. Now that they had managed to avoid a trial at the Assizes, he breathed again: but it would be difficult to prevent his enemies keeping the wound open. He would go and see the Prefect the very next day. Thank Heaven, he could do what he liked with the Editor of the _Lande Conservatrice_. There was that story about those little girls!... He took Thérèse’s arm: “Get in at once, you’ve no time to lose.” Then the lawyer, perhaps out of malice, or possibly not liking to let Thérèse go without saying a word to her, asked if she was going back to Monsieur Bernard Desqueyroux that very evening. As she replied, “Of course I am; my husband is expecting me,” she realised for the first time since she had left the Law Courts that she would, in fact, in a few hours, cross the threshold of the room in which her husband was lying, still rather ill, and that this was the beginning of an indefinite succession of days through which she must live in this man’s company.