LAssommoir | Page 8

we were cleaned out. It was
then that we came to live at the Hotel Boncoeur, and that this horrible
life began."
She interrupted herself. A lump had suddenly risen in her throat, and
she could scarcely restrain her tears. She had finished brushing the
things.
"I must go and fetch my hot water," she murmured.
But Madame Boche, greatly disappointed at this break off in the
disclosures, called to the wash-house boy, who was passing, "My little
Charles, kindly get madame a pail of hot water; she's in a hurry."
The youth took the bucket and brought it back filled. Gervaise paid him;
it was a sou the pailful. She poured the hot water into the tub, and

soaped the things a last time with her hands, leaning over them in a
mass of steam, which deposited small beads of grey vapor in her light
hair.
"Here put some soda in, I've got some by me," said the concierge,
obligingly.
And she emptied into Gervaise's tub what remained of a bag of soda
which she had brought with her. She also offered her some of the
chemical water, but the young woman declined it; it was only good for
grease and wine stains.
"I think he's rather a loose fellow," resumed Madame Boche, returning
to Lantier, but without naming him.
Gervaise, bent almost double, her hands all shriveled, and thrust in
amongst the clothes, merely tossed her head.
"Yes, yes," continued the other, "I have noticed several little things--"
But she suddenly interrupted herself, as Gervaise jumped up, with a
pale face, and staring wildly at her. Then she exclaimed, "Oh, no! I
don't know anything! He likes to laugh a bit, I think, that's all. For
instance, you know the two girls who lodge at my place, Adele and
Virginie. Well; he larks about with 'em, but he just flirts for sport."
The young woman standing before her, her face covered with
perspiration, the water dripping from her arms, continued to stare at her
with a fixed and penetrating look. Then the concierge got excited,
giving herself a blow on the chest, and pledging her word of honor, she
cried:
"I know nothing, I mean it when I say so!"
Then calming herself, she added in a gentle voice, as if speaking to a
person on whom loud protestations would have no effect, "I think he
has a frank look about the eyes. He'll marry you, my dear, I'm sure of
it."

Gervaise wiped her forehead with her wet hand. Shaking her head
again, she pulled another garment out of the water. Both of them kept
silence for a moment. The wash-house was quieting down, for eleven
o'clock had struck. Half of the washerwomen were perched on the edge
of their tubs, eating sausages between slices of bread and drinking from
open bottles of wine. Only housewives who had come to launder small
bundles of family linen were hurrying to finish.
Occasional beetle blows could still be heard amid the subdued laughter
and gossip half-choked by the greedy chewing of jawbones. The steam
engine never stopped. Its vibrant, snorting voice seemed to fill the
entire hall, though not one of the women even heard it. It was like the
breathing of the wash-house, its hot breath collecting under the ceiling
rafters in an eternal floating mist.
The heat was becoming intolerable. Through the tall windows on the
left sunlight was streaming in, touching the steamy vapors with
opalescent tints of soft pinks and grayish blues. Charles went from
window to window, letting down the heavy canvas awnings. Then he
crossed to the shady side to open the ventilators. He was applauded by
cries and hand clapping and a rough sort of gaiety spread around. Soon
even the last of the beetle-pounding stopped.
With full mouths, the washerwomen could only make gestures. It
became so quiet that the grating sound of the fireman shoveling coal
into the engine's firebox could be heard at regular intervals from far at
the other end.
Gervaise was washing her colored things in the hot water thick with
lather, which she had kept for the purpose. When she had finished, she
drew a trestle towards her and hung across it all the different articles;
the drippings from which made bluish puddles on the floor; and she
commenced rinsing. Behind her, the cold water tap was set running into
a vast tub fixed to the ground, and across which were two wooden bars
whereon to lay the clothes. High up in the air were two other bars for
the things to finish dripping on.
"We're almost finished, and not a bad job," said Madame Boche. "I'll

wait and help you wring all that."
"Oh! it's not worth while; I'm much obliged though," replied the young
woman, who was