Each of them turned icy cold, on perceiving that both had the same thought.

And they were overcome with pity and horror at mutually reading the secret design of the other on their agitated countenances.
Madame Raquin, feeling the catastrophe near at hand, watched them with piercing, fixed eyes.
Therese and Laurent, all at once, burst into sobs.

A supreme crisis undid them, cast them into the arms of one another, as weak as children.
It seemed to them as if something tender and sweet had awakened in their breasts.

They wept, without uttering a word, thinking of the vile life they had led, and would still lead, if they were cowardly enough to live.
Then, at the recollection of the past, they felt so fatigued and disgusted with themselves, that they experienced a huge desire for repose, for nothingness.

They exchanged a final look, a look of thankfulness, in presence of the knife and glass of poison.