d laugh. "Who cares, you are always so worried. She is at
her counter and won't leave. She is too afraid of being robbed. Besides,
you can hide."

Laurent's passion had not yet stifled his native peasant caution, but
soon he grew used to the risks of these meetings, only a few yards from
the old woman.

One day, fearing her niece was ill, Madame Raquin climbed the stairs.
Therese never bothered to bolt the bedroom door.

At the sound of the woman's heavy step on the wooden stairs, Laurent
became frantic. Therese laughed as she saw him searching for his
waistcoat and hat. She grabbed his arm and pushed him down at the foot
of the bed. With perfect self-possession she whispered:

"Stay there. Don't move."

She threw all his clothes that were lying about over him and covered
them with a white petticoat she had taken off. Without losing her calm,
she lay down, half-naked, with her hair loose.

When Madame Raquin quietly opened the door and tiptoed to the bed the
younger woman pretended to be asleep. Laurent, under all the clothes was
in a panic.

"Therese," asked the old lady with some concern, "are you all right, my
dear?"

Therese, opening her eyes and yawning, answered that she had a terrible
migraine. She begged her aunt to let her sleep some more. The old lady
left the room as quietly as she had entered it.

"So you see," Therese said triumphantly, "there is no reason to worry.
These people are not in love. They are blind."

At other times Therese seemed quite mad, wandering in her mind. She
would see the cat, sitting motionless and dignified, looking at them.
"Look at Francois," she said to Laurent. "You'd think he understands and
is planning to tell Camille everything to-night. He knows a thing or two
about us. Wouldn't it be funny if one day, in the shop, he just started
talking."

This idea was delightful to Therese but Laurent felt a shudder run
through him as he looked at the cat's big green eyes. Therese's hold on
him was not total and he was scared. He got up and put the cat out of
the room.

CHAPTER VIII

Laurent was perfectly happy of an evening, in the shop. He generally
returned from the office with Camille. Madame Raquin had formed quite
a motherly affection for him. She knew he was short of cash, and
indifferently nourished, that he slept in a garret; and she had told
him, once for all, that a seat would always be kept for him at their
table. She liked this young fellow with that exp