Therese paid no heed to her, but sought her clothes and put them on with hurried, trembling gestures.

When she was dressed, she went and looked at herself in a glass, rubbing her eyes, and passing her hands over her countenance, as if to efface something.

Then, without pronouncing a syllable, she quickly crossed the dining-room and entered the apartment occupied by Madame Raquin.
She caught the old mercer in a moment of doltish calm.

When Therese appeared, she turned her head following the movements of the young widow with her eyes, while the latter came and stood before her, mute and oppressed.

The two women contemplated one another for some seconds, the niece with increasing anxiety, the aunt with painful efforts of memory.
Madame Raquin, at last remembering, stretched out her trembling arms, and, taking Therese by the neck, exclaimed: "My poor child, my poor Camille!" She wept, and her tears dried on the burning skin of the young widow, who concealed her own dry eyes in the folds of the sheet.