Thérèse protested, saying that such a thought had never entered her mind, and that she intended remaining faithful to Camille. Madame Raquin began to weep. Pleading against her heart, she gave her niece to understand that despair should not be eternal; and, finally, in response to an exclamation of the young woman saying she would never replace Camille, Madame Raquin abruptly pronounced the name of Laurent. Then she enlarged with a flood of words on the propriety and advantages of such an union. She poured out her mind, repeating aloud all she had been thinking during the evening, depicting with naive egotism, the picture of her final days of happiness, between her two dear children. Thérèse, resigned and docile, listened to her with bowed head, ready to give satisfaction to her slightest wish. “I love Laurent as a brother,” said she grievously, when her aunt had ceased speaking. “But, as you desire it, I will endeavour to love him as a husband. I wish to make you happy. I had hoped that you would have allowed me to weep in peace, but I will dry my tears, as it is a question of your happiness.” She kissed the old lady, who remained surprised and frightened at having been the first to forget her son. As Madame Raquin went to bed, she sobbed bitterly, accusing herself of having less strength than Thérèse, and of desiring, out of egotism, a marriage that the young widow accepted by simple abnegation. The following morning, Michaud and his old friend had a short conversation in the arcade, before the door of the shop, where they communicated to one another the result of their efforts, and agreed to hurry matters on by forcing the young people to become affianced the same evening. At five o’clock, Michaud was already in the shop when Laurent entered. As soon as the young man had seated himself, the former commissary of police said in his ear: “She accepts.” This blunt remark was overheard by Thérèse who remained pale, with her eyes impudently fixed on Laurent. The two sweethearts looked at each other for a few seconds as if consulting. Both understood that they must accept the position without hesitation, and finish the business at one stroke. Laurent, rising, went and took the hand of Madame Raquin, who made every effort to restrain her tears. “Dear mother,” said he smiling, “I was talking about your felicity, last night, with M. Michaud. Your children wish to make you happy.” The poor old lady, on hearing herself called “dear mother,” allowed her tears to flow. She quietly seized the hand of Thérèse and placed it in that of Laurent, unable to utter a single word. The two sweethearts shivered on feeling their skins touch, and remained with their burning fingers pressed together, in a nervous clasp. After a pause, the young man, in a hesitating tone, resumed: “Thérèse, shall we give your aunt a bright and peaceful existence?” “Yes,” feebly replied the young woman, “we have a duty to perform.”