LAssommoir | Page 9

kneading with her hands and sousing the colored
things in some clean water. "If I'd any sheets, it would be another
thing."
But she had, however, to accept the concierge's assistance. They were
wringing between them, one at each end, a woolen skirt of a
washed-out chestnut color, from which dribbled a yellowish water,
when Madame Boche exclaimed:
"Why, there's tall Virginie! What has she come here to wash, when all
her wardrobe that isn't on her would go into a pocket handkerchief?"
Gervaise jerked her head up. Virginie was a girl of her own age, taller
than she was, dark and pretty in spite of her face being rather long and
narrow. She had on an old black dress with flounces, and a red ribbon
round her neck; and her hair was done up carefully, the chignon being
enclosed in a blue silk net. She stood an instant in the middle of the
central alley, screwing up her eyes as though seeking someone; then,
when she caught sight of Gervaise, she passed close to her, erect,
insolent, and with a swinging gait, and took a place in the same row,
five tubs away from her.
"There's a freak for you!" continued Madame Boche in a lower tone of
voice. "She never does any laundry, not even a pair of cuffs. A
seamstress who doesn't even sew on a loose button! She's just like her
sister, the brass burnisher, that hussy Adele, who stays away from her
job two days out of three. Nobody knows who their folks are or how
they make a living. Though, if I wanted to talk . . . What on earth is she
scrubbing there? A filthy petticoat. I'll wager it's seen some lovely
sights, that petticoat!"
Madame Boche was evidently trying to make herself agreeable to
Gervaise. The truth was she often took a cup of coffee with Adele and
Virginia, when the girls had any money. Gervaise did not answer, but
hurried over her work with feverish hands. She had just prepared her

blue in a little tub that stood on three legs. She dipped in the linen
things, and shook them an instant at the bottom of the colored water,
the reflection of which had a pinky tinge; and after wringing them
lightly, she spread them out on the wooden bars up above. During the
time she was occupied with this work, she made a point of turning her
back on Virginie. But she heard her chuckles; she could feel her
sidelong glances. Virginie appeared only to have come there to provoke
her. At one moment, Gervaise having turned around, they both stared
into each other's faces.
"Leave her alone," whispered Madame Boche. "You're not going to
pull each other's hair out, I hope. When I tell you there's nothing to it! It
isn't her, anyhow!"
At this moment, as the young woman was hanging up the last article of
clothing, there was a sound of laughter at the door of the wash-house.
"Here are two brats who want their mamma!" cried Charles.
All the women leant forward. Gervaise recognized Claude and Etienne.
As soon as they caught sight of her, they ran to her through the puddles,
the heels of their unlaced shoes resounding on the flagstones. Claude,
the eldest, held his little brother by the hand. The women, as they
passed them, uttered little exclamations of affection as they noticed
their frightened though smiling faces. And they stood there, in front of
their mother, without leaving go of each other's hands, and holding
their fair heads erect.
"Has papa sent you?" asked Gervaise.
But as she stooped to tie the laces of Etienne's shoes, she saw the key of
their room on one of Claude's fingers, with the brass number hanging
from it.
"Why, you've brought the key!" she said, greatly surprised. "What's that
for?"
The child, seeing the key which he had forgotten on his finger,

appeared to recollect, and exclaimed in his clear voice:
"Papa's gone away."
"He's gone to buy the lunch, and told you to come here to fetch me?"
Claude looked at his brother, hesitated, no longer recollecting. Then he
resumed all in a breath: "Papa's gone away. He jumped off the bed, he
put all the things in the trunk, he carried the trunk down to a cab. He's
gone away."
Gervaise, who was squatting down, slowly rose to her feet, her face
ghastly pale. She put her hands to her cheeks and temples, as though
she felt her head was breaking; and she could find only these words,
which she repeated twenty times in the same tone of voice:
"Ah! good heavens!--ah! good heavens!--ah! good heavens!"
Madame Boche, however, also questioned the child, quite delighted at
the chance of hearing the whole story.
"Come,