He claimed work as children claim toys, not from a feeling of duty, but by instinct, by a necessity of nature.

The tenderness, the devotedness of his mother had instilled into him an egotism that was ferocious.

He fancied he loved those who pitied and caressed him; but, in reality, he lived apart, within himself, loving naught but his comfort, seeking by all possible means to increase his enjoyment.

When the tender affection of Madame Raquin disgusted him, he plunged with delight into a stupid occupation that saved him from infusions and potions.
In the evening, on his return from the office, he ran to the bank of the Seine with his cousin Therese who was then close upon eighteen.

One day, sixteen years previously, while Madame Raquin was still a mercer, her brother Captain Degans brought her a little girl in his arms.