s seized with indecision.

"But she is ugly," thought he. "She has a long nose, and a big mouth.
Besides, I have not the least love for her. I shall perhaps get myself
into trouble. The matter requires reflection."

Laurent, who was very prudent, turned these thoughts over in his head
for a whole week. He calculated all the possible inconveniences of an
intrigue with Therese, and only decided to attempt the adventure, when
he felt convinced that it could be attended by no evil consequences.
Therese would have every interest to conceal their intimacy, and he
could get rid of her whenever he pleased. Even admitting that Camille
discovered everything, and got angry, he would knock him down, if
he became spiteful. From every point of view that matter appeared to
Laurent easy and engaging.

Henceforth he enjoyed gentle quietude, waiting for the hour to strike.
He had made up his mind to act boldly at the first opportunity. In the
future he saw comfortable evenings, with all the Raquins contributing to
his enjoyment: Therese giving him her love, Madame Raquin wheedling him
like a mother, and Camille chatting with him so that he might not feel
too dull, at night, in the shop.

The portrait was almost completed, but the opportunity he desired did
not occur. Therese, depressed and anxious, continued to remain in the
room. But so did Camille, and Laurent was in despair at being unable
to get rid of him. Nevertheless, the time came when he found himself
obliged to mention that the portrait would be finished on the morrow,
and Madame Raquin thereupon announced that they would celebrate the
completion of the work of the artist by dining together.

The next day, when Laurent had given the canvas the last touch, all the
family assembled to go into raptures over the striking resemblance. The
portrait was vile, a dirty grey colour with large violescent patches.
Laurent could not use even the brightest colours, without making
them dull and muddy. In spite of himself he had exaggerated the wan
complexion of his model, and the countenance of Camille resembled the
greenish visage of a person who had met death by drowning. The grimacing
drawing threw the features into convulsions, thus rendering the sinister
resemblance all the more striking. But Camille was delighted; he
declared that he had the appearance of a person of distinction on the
canvas.

When he had thoroughly admired his own face, he declared he would go and
fetch a coupl