A fortnight passed.

The bitterness of the first hours was softening; each day brought additional tranquillity and calm; life resumed its course with weary languidness, and with the monotonous intellectual insensibility which follows great shocks.

At the commencement, Laurent and Therese allowed themselves to drift into this new existence which was transforming them; within their beings was proceeding a silent labour which would require analysing with extreme delicacy if one desired to mark all its phases.
It was not long before Laurent came every night to the shop as formerly.
But he no longer dined there, he no longer made the place a lounge during the entire evening.

He arrived at half-past nine, and remained until he had put up the shutters.

It seemed as if he was accomplishing a duty in placing himself at the service of the two women.