She remained weighed down by the brutal invasion of ideas of vengeance that drove away all the goodness of her life.

When she had been thus transformed, all was dark inwardly; she felt the birth of a new being within her frame, a being pitiless and cruel, who would have liked to bite the murderers of her son.
When she had succumbed to the overwhelming stroke of paralysis, when she understood that she could not fly at the throats of Therese and Laurent, whom she longed to strangle, she resigned herself to silence and immobility, and great tears fell slowly from her eyes.

Nothing could be more heartrending than this mute and motionless despair.

Those tears coursing, one by one, down this lifeless countenance, not a wrinkle of which moved, that inert, wan face which could not weep with its features, and whose eyes alone sobbed, presented a poignant spectacle.
Therese was seized with horrified pity.
"We must put her to bed," said she to Laurent, pointing to her aunt.
Laurent hastened to roll the paralysed woman into her bedroom.

Then, as he stooped down to take her in his arms, Madame Raquin hoped that some powerful spring would place her on her feet; and she attempted a supreme effort.