Terre Haute Weekly Gazette, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 9 October 1879 — Page 2

AUTHOR Otr

aHEL»-NB

,*

from THE FR«N 1

E I E O A

Gervaise had waited and watched for Lantier until two in the morning. Then, chilled and shivering she turned from the window and threw herself across the bed, where she fell into a feverish doze with her cheeks wet with tears. Foe the last week when they came out of the Veau a deux teles where they ate, he had sent her off to bed with the children, and had not appeared until late into the night, and always with a story that he had been looking for work.

This very night, while she was watching for his return, she fancied she saw him enter the ball room of the GrandBalcon, whose ten windows blazing with lights illuminated as with a sheet of fire, the black iines of the outer Boulevards. She caught a glimpse of Adele, a preliy brunette who dined at their restaurant, and who was walking a few steps behind him, with her hands swinging as if she had just dropped his arm, rather than pass before the Wight light of the globes over the door, in his company.

When Gervaise awoke about Ave o'clock, tii fT and core, she burst into wild sobs, for Lantier had not come in. For the first time he had slept out. She sat on the edge of the bed, half shrouded in the canopy of faded chintz that hung from the arrow fastened to the ceiling by a string. Slowlv, with her eyes suffused with tears, she looked around this miserable chambre garnie, whose furniture consisted of a chestnut bureau oI which one drawer was absent, three straw chairs and a greasy table, on which was a broken handled pitcher.

Another bedstead—an iren'one—had been brought in for the children. ,Th stood in front ol the bureau and filled up two-thirds of the room.

A trunk belonging to Gervaise and Lantier stood in the corner wide open, showing its empty sides, while at the bottom a man's old hat lay among soiled shirts and hose. Along the walls, and on the backs of the chairs, hung a ragged shawl, a pair of muddy pantaloons and a drew or two—all too bad for the old clothes man to buy. In the middle of the mantel between two mismated tin candlesticks was a bundle ofpawn tickets from the Mont-de-Piete. These tickets were of a delicate shade of rose.

The room was the best in the hotel the fubt floor looking out on the Boulevard.

Meanwhile side by side on the same pillow, the two children lay calmly sleeping. Claude, who was eight years old, was breathing calmlv and regtilart* with bis little hands out«ide of the coverings, wmle Etienne, only four, smiled with one arm under his brother'6 neck.

When their mother's eyes fell on them she had a new paroxysm of sobs, and pressed her handkerchief to her mouth to stifle them. Then with bare feet, not stopping to put on her slippers which had fallen off, she ran to the window, out of which

she

OR, UNS PACE D'AMOUR,r 'THE ABBRa

„AA, FAUTE PVJk'ABgK^MOURET," ETC.

leaned as she had done half

the night, and inspected the sidewalks as far a*

she

could see.

Trie ivoiel was on the Boulevard de la Chapelle, at the left of the Barriere Poissonniers. It was a two story building, painted a deep red up to the first floor, and had disjointed weather-stained blinds.

Above a lantern with glass sides, was a sign between the two windows: HOTEL BONCCER, t" Mv KEPT FY *r

,u

MARSOULLIER.

in large yellow letters, partially obliterated by the dampness. Gervaise, who was prevented by the lantern from seeing as she desired, leaned out still further, with her handkerchief on her lips. She looked to the right toward the Boulevard de Rochechoumurt, where groups of butchers stood with their bloody frocks before their establishments, and the freBh breeze brought in wbiffs, a storng smeli —the swell of slaughtered cattle.

She looked to the left, following the ribbon-like avenue, past the Hospital de Lariboisiere, then building. Slowly, from one end to the other of the horizon, did she follow the wall, from behind which in the night titne, she had heard strange groans and cries, as if some fell murder were being perpetrated. She looked at it with horror, as if in some dark corner—dark with dampness and filth—she should distinguished Lantier, —Lantier lying dead with his throat cut.

When she gazed beyond this gray and interminable wall she saw a great light, a golden mist waving and shimmering with the dawn of a new Parisan day. But it wa6 to the Barriere Poissonniers that her eyes persistently returned— watching dully the uninterrupted flow of men and cattle, wagons and sheep which came down from Montmartre and from la Chapelle. There were scattered flocks dashed like waves oa the sidewalk by some

Sudden

detention, and an endless

succession of laborers going to their work with their tools over their shoulders and their .loaves of bread under their arms.

Suddenly Gervaise thought she distinguished Lantier amid this crowd, and she leaned eargerly forward at the risk of falling from the window. With a fresh pang of disappointment she pressed her- handkerchief to her lips to restrain her sobs.

A fresh, youthful voice caused her to turnaround: "Lantier has not come in then?" "No, Monsieur Coupeau," she answered trying to smile. "'The speaker was a tinsmith who occu-

?lis

ied a tiny room at the top of the house, bag of tools was over his shoulder he had seen the key in the door and entered with the familiarity of a friend. "You know," he continued, "that I am

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'J

CHAPTER I.

GERVAISE.

working now-a dai

Gervaise leaned out. "Ah! Is ityeu, Madame Boche! Yes, I am up early, for I have much to do to day." "Is that so? Well, things don't get done by themselves, that's sure!"

And a conversation ensued between the widow and the sidewalk. Madame Boche was the Concierge of the house, wherein the restaurant du Veau a Deux Tetes occupied the rez de chaussee.

Many times Gervaise had waited for Lantier in the room of this woman, rather than face the men who were eating. The Concierge said she had just been round the corner to arouse a lazy fellow who had promised to do some work, and then went on to speak of one one of her lodgers who had come in the night before with some woman, and had made such a noise that every one was disturbed until after three o'clock.

As she gabbled however, she examined Gervaise with considerable curiosity, and seemed, in fact, to h*ve come out under the window for that express purpose. "Is Monsieur Lantier still asleep?" she asked suddenly. ^s, "Yes, he is asleep," answered Ger vaise, with flashing cheeks.

Madame saw the tears come to her eyes, and satisfied with her discovery was turning away, when she suddenly iitopped and called out: "Y«u are going to the lavatory this morning, are you not? All right then, I have some things to wash, and I will keep a place for you next to me, and we can have a little talk!"

Then as if moved by sudden compassion, she added: "Pocr child!—don,t stay at that window any longer. You are purple with cold, and will surely make yourself sick!"

But Gervaise did not move. She remained in the same spot for two mortal hours, until the clock struck eight The shops were now all open. The procession in blouses had long ceased, and only an occasional one hurried along. At the wine shops however, there was the same crowd of men drinking, spitting and coughing. The workmen in the street had given place to the workwoman. Milliner's apprentices, florists, burnishers, who with thin shawls drawn closely around them, came in bands of three or four, talking eagerly, with gay laughs and quick glances. Occasionally one solitary figure was seen, a pale-faced, serious woman, who walked rapidly, neither looking to the right nor to the left.

Then came the clerks, blowing on their fingers to warm them, eating a roll as they walked young men, lean and tall, with clothing they had outgrown, and with eyes heavy with sleep old men, who moved along with measured steps, occasionally pulling out their watches, but able, from many years' practice, to time their movements almost to a second.

The Boulevards at last were compartively quiet. The inhabitant* were sunning themselves. Women with untidy hair and soiled petticoats were nursing their babies the open air, and an occasional dirty-faced brat fell into the gutter, or rolled over with shrieks of pain or joy.

Gervaise telt faint and ill—all hope was gone. It seemed to her that all was over, and that Lantier would come no

notni

TEMPTAT

IrRl

face ar a blinded

oa

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lay? at the ..hospital.

What a May this is! The air positively stings one this morning." As he spoke he looked closely at Gervaise he saw her eyes were red with tears, and then glancing at the bed, discovered that it had not been disturbed. He shook his head, and going toward the couch where the children lay tffth their rosy cherub faces, he said in a lower voice: 3l :jfs ®fl| "You think your husband ought to have been with vou, Madame. But don't be troubled, he fs busy with politics. He went on like a mad man the other day when they were voting for Eugene Sue Perhaps he passed the night with his friends abusing that reprobate, Bona parte." "No, no," she murmered with an effort. "You think nothing of that kind. I know where Lantier is only toe well We have our sorrows like the rest of the world!"

Coupeau gave a knowing wink and departed, having offered to bring her some milk if she did not care to go out she was a good woman, he told her, and might count on him any time she was in trouble,

As soon as Gervaise was alone, she re turned to the window. From the Barriere, the lowing of the cattle and the bleating of the sheep still came on the keen, fresh morning air. Amon§| the crowd she recogrkc.ed the locksmiths by their blue frocks, the ma sons by their white overalls, the painters by their coats, from under which hung their blouses. This crowd was cheerless. All of neutral tints—grays and blues predominating, with never a dash of color. Occasionally a workman stopped and lighted his pipe, while his companions passed on. There was no laughing, no talking, but they strode on steadily with cadaverous faces, toward that Paris which quickly swallowed them up.

At the two corners of La Rue des Poissonniers were two wine shops, v/here the shutters had just been taken down Here some of the workmen lingered crowding into the shop, spitting, cough ing and drinking glasses of brandy and water. Gervaise was watching the place on the left of the street, where she thought she had seen Lantier go in when a stout woman, bareheaded, and wearing a large apron, called to her from the pavement, "You are up early! Madame Lantier!"

vShe was sitting on a chair, with her Wms dropping drearily at her side, but not weeping, when Lantier quietly opened the door and walked in. "You have come!'' she cried, ready to threw herself on his feck. "Vtes,

He was a small, dark fellow, handsome and well made, with a delicate moustache, which he twisted in his fin gers mechaniwlly as he spoke. He wore an old coat, buttoned tightly at the waist, and Spoke with a strongly marked pro vincial accent.

Gervaise had dropped upon her chair again, and uttered disjointed phrases of lamentation.

I have not closed my eyes—I thought you were killed! Where have you been all night? I feel as if I were going mad'. Tell me, Auguste, where have you been?' "Oh! I had business," he answered with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders. "At eight o'clock I had an engage ment with that friend, you know, who thinking of starting a manufactory of hats. I was detained, and I. preferred stopping there. But you kno'v I don't like to be watched ana catechised/ Just let me alone, will you?"

His wife began to sob. Their voices and Lantier's noisy movements, as he pushed the chaig* about, woke the children. They started up, half naked, with tumbled hair, and hearing their mother cry, they tollowed her example, rending the air with their shrieks. "Well, this is lovely music!" cried Lan tier, furiously. I warn you, if you don't all 8top that out of this door 1 go, and you won't see me again in a hurry! Will you hold your tongue? Good-bye, then I'll go back where I came from

He snatched up his hat, but Gervaise rushed toward him,crying.4f»r "No! no I"

And she soothed the children and stifled their cries with kisses, and laid them tenderly back in their bed, and they were soon happy and merrily playing together. Meanwhile the father* not even taking off his boots, threw himself on the bed with a weary air. His face was white from exhaustion and a sleepless night he did not Close his eyes, but looked around the room. "A nice looking place, this!" he mut tered.

Then examining Gervaise, he said half aloud and half to himself: "Sot you have given up washing yourself, it seettis!"

TBRMS tUttriis WEEKLY GAZETTE,

from the dingy ilnrii with their dirt ^nd on to the ne.v and star

uses,

I have come," he1 aftswered,

and what of it? Don't begin any of yburfRwMKfwe, nowP'und fee -pushed her aside. Then, with an angry gesture he tossed his felt hat on the bureau.

!~t

nap

«ritlv4lpiokMtained oelin^ and sr disC0lored"by dampness, §nd three ilapidated bu no dusi' wash befoi examine iff instituting

If and some

he smiled a disdainful little smile. Gervaise was slightly, very slightly lame, but her lameness was perceptible only on such days asshe was very tired. This morning, so weary was she from the watches of the r.ight»that she could hackly walk with?)of support.

A profound silence reigned in the room —they did not jpask to cad^othe* seemed to be waiting for something. She, adopting an unconcerned air, seemed to bee in haste.

Sh made up a bundle of soiled lineo that had been thrown into a corner behind the trunk, and then he spoke:

What are you doing Are you going out At first she did not reply. Then when he angrily repeated the question she answered "Certainly I am. I am going to wash all these things. The children cannot live in dirt."

He threw two or three handkerchiefs toward her, and another long silence he said :f "Have ^5u any money

She quickly ro»e to her feet and turned toward him in her hand she held some of the soiled clothes. "Money Where should I get money unless I had stolen it You know very well that day before yesterday you got three francs on my black skirt. We have breakfasted twice on that, and money goes fast. No, I have no money I have four sous for the Lavatory. I cannot make money like other women we know."

He did not reply to this allusion, but rose from the bed, and passed in review the ragged garments hung around the room. He ended by taking down the pantaloons and the shawl and opening the bureau took out sacque and two chemises. All thes he made into a bundle, which he threw at Gervaise. "Take them," he said, "and make haste back from the pawnbroker's." "Would you not like for me to take the children?" she asked. "Heavens! if pawnbrokers would only make loans on children, what a good thing it would be!"

She went to the Mont-de-Piete, and when she returned, a half hour, later, she laid a silver five-franc piece on the man-tel-shelf, and placed the ticket with the others between the two candlesticks. "This is what they gave me," she said, coldly. "I wanted six francs, but they would not give them.. They always keep on the safe side there, and yet there is always a crowd."

Lantier did not at once take up the money. He had sent her to the Mont-

Gervaise was only twenty-two. She de-Piete, that he hiight not leave her was tall and slender, with delicate fea- without food or money, but when he

tures, already worn by hardships and anxieties. With her hair uncombed and shoe* down at heel, shivering in her white sack, on which was much dust and many stains from the furniture and wall where it had hung, she looked at least ten years older frOm the hours o.f .sus pense and tears she had passed.'

Lantier's words startled her .from her resignation and timidity. "Are you not ashamed?" she said with considerable animation. You know very w'elf that I do all I can. it is not my fault that we came here. I should like to see you with two children, in a place vfhere you can't get a drop of hpt water. We ought as soon as we reached Paris to have settled ourselves at once in a home, that was what yOu promised." "Psha:v," he muttered "you had as much good as I had out of our savings. You ate the fatted calf with me—and it is not worth while to make a row about it now!"

She did not heed his words, but continued: "There is no need of giving up either. I saw Madame Fauconnier, the laundress in La Rue Neuve. She will take me Monday. If you go in with your friend we will be afloat again in sii months. We must find some kind of a hole where we- can live cheaply while we work. That. isthe thing to do now. Work! work!, "Ye*, I know ve'ry'well that you don't like to work. You would like to wear fine clothes and walk about the streets all day. You don't like my looks since you took all mv dresses to the pawnbrokers. No, 1.0, Augusle, I did not intend to speak to you about ir, but I know very well where you spent the night. I saw you go into the Grand-Balcon with that street wvlker, Adele. You have made a charming choice. She wears fine clothes and is clean. Yes, and she has reason to be certainly, there is not a man in that restaurant* who does not know her far better than an honest girl should be known 1'*

Lantier leaped from the bed. His eyes were as black as night and his face deadly pale. "Yes," repeated his wife, "I mean what I say. Madame Boche will not keep her or her sister in the house any longer, because (here are always a crowd o,f men hanging on the stair-case."

Lantier lifted both fists, and then conquering a violent desire to beat her, he seized her in his arms, shook her violently and threw her on the bed where the children were. They at once began to cry again, while he stood for a moment, and then, with the air of a man who finally takes a resolution in regard to which he has hesitated, he said: "You do not know what you have done, Gervaise. You are wrong—as you will soon discover.*1

For a moment the voices of the children filled the room. Their mother lying on their narrow couch held them both in her arms, and said over and oyer again in a monotonous voice: "If you were not here, my poor darlings I if you were not here If \ou were not here!"

Lantier was lying flat on his back with his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He was not listening his attention was concentrated on some fixed idea. He remained in this way for an hour and more—not sleeping in spite of his evident and intense fatigue. When he turned and leaning on his elbow looked about the room again, he found that Gervaise had arranged the chamber and made the children's bed. They were washed and dretsed. He watched her as she swept the room and dusted the furniture.

The room was very dreary still how.

caught sight of part of a ham wrapped in paper on the table, with half a loaf of bread, he slipped the silver piece into his vest pocket. "I did not dare go to the milk-woman, explained Gervaise, "because we owe her tor eight days. But I shall be back early. You can get some bread and some chops, and have them ready. Don't forget the urine, too."

He made no reply. Peace see.-ued to be made, but when Gervaise went to the trunk to take out some of Lantier's clothing, he called out: "No—let that alone." "What do you mean?" she, Said turning round in surprise. "You can't wear those things again until they are washed! Why shall I not take them?"

And she looked at him with some anxiety. He angrily tore the things from her hands ind threw them back into the 'runk. "Confound you!" he muttered. "Will you never learn to obey? When I say a thing I mean it "But why?" she repeated, turning very pale, and seized with a terrible suspicion. "You do not need these shirts—you are not going away. Why should I not take them?"

He hesiMted a moment, uneasy under the earnest gaze she fixed upon him. "Why? Why? Because," he said, am sick of hearing you say that you wash and mend for me. Attend to jour own affairs, and I will attend to mine,"

She entreated him—defended herself from the charge of ever having complained—but he shut the trunk with a loud bang, and then sat down upon it, repeating that he was master at least of his clothing. Then, to escape from her eyes, he threw himself again on the bed, saying he was sleepy, and that she made his head ache, and finally slept, or pretended to do so.

Gervaise hesitated she was tempted to give up her plan of going to the Lavatory, and thought she would sit down to her sewing. But at last she was reassured by Lantier's rqgular breathing, she took her soap and her ba^l of blueing, and going to the children, who were playing on the floor with some old corks, she said in a low voice:

Be very good, and keep quiet. Papa is sleeping." When she left the room there was not a sound except the stifled laughter of the little ones. It Iras then after ten and the sun was shining brightly in at th« window "?,

Gervfcise, on reaching the boulevard, turned to the left and followed the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or. As she passed Madame Fauconnier's shop she nodded to the woman. The Lavatory, whither she went, was in the middle of this street, just where it begins to ascend. Over a large low building towered three enormous reservoirs for water, huge cylinders of zinc strongly made, and in the rear was the drying room, an apartment with very high ceiling, and surrounded by blinds through which the air passed. On the right of the reservoirs a steam engine let off regular puffs of white smoke. Gervaise, habituated apparently to puddles, did not lift her skirts, but threaded her way through the part of Eau de Javelle which encumbered the doorway, She knew the mistress of the establishment, a little delicate woman, who sat in a cabinet with glass doors, surrounded by soap and blueing, and packages of bicarbonate of soda.

As Gervaise passed the desk, she asked for her brush and beater, which she had left to be taken care of after her last, wash. Then, having taken her number

fhe went in. as it were,, wish and rafter*, ttuco «e mpdmn,

nae shed, beams lighted by me daymist'er hick 4ras andean central and t«ef bare to tucked up, stockings.

d«jaawe wnfeUQtoi rows oTwomen the shoulders and stood showing their-ti#red and stout laced shoes*

They rubbed and pounded furious^t, sUpsghtepirc themselves occasionally to utnr a sentence, a#d then applying themselves again to thair task, with the steam pouring down their red faces. There 'was constilit rash 6f water from the faucet^ a great splashing as the clothes were rinsed, and pounding and banging of the beaters, while amid all this noise the steam engine in the corner kept up its regular puffing.

Gervaise went slowly up the aisle looking to the right and the left. She carried her bundle under her arm and limped more than usual, as she was pushed and jarred by the energy of the women about ber. "Here! this way, my dear," cried Madame Boche, and when the young woman had joined her at the very end where she stood, the Concierge, without stop ping her furious rubbing, began to talk in I steady fashion. "Yes, this is your place. I have kept it for you. I have not much to do. Boche" is never hard on his linen, and you, too, do not seem to have much. Your package is quite small. We shall finish by noon, and then we can get something to eat. I used to give my clothes to a woman in La Rue Pelat, 'but bless my heart! she washed and pounded them all away and I made up my mind to wash myself. It is clear gain, you see, and costs only the soap."

Gervaise opened her bundle and sorted the clothes, laying aside all the colored pieces, and when Madame Boche ad vised her to try a little soda, she shook her head. "No, no!" she said, "I know all about it!" "You know?" answered Boche, curiously. "You have washed then, in your own place, before you came here?"

Gervaise, with her sleeves rolled up, showing her pretty, fair arras, was soaping a child's shirt. She rubbed it, and turned it, soaped and rubbed it again Before she answered she took up her beater and began to use it, accenting each phrase, or rather punctuating them, with her regular blows. "Yes, yes, washed—I should think I had! ever since I was ten years old. We went to the river side, where I came from. It was much nicer than here. I wish you could see it—a pretty corner under the trees by the running water. Do you know Plassans? near Mar seilles?" "You area strong one, anyhow!" cried Madome Boche, astonished at the rapid ity and strength of the woman. "Your arras are slender, but they are like iron.

The conversation continued until all the linen was well beaten and yet whole! Gervaise then took each piece, separately, rinsed it, then rubbed with soap and brushed it. That is to say, she held the cloth firmly with one hand, and with the other moved the short brush from her. pushing along a dirty foam which fell off into the water below.

As she brushed they talked. "No, We are not married," said Grevaise. "1do not intend to lie about it Lantier is not so nice that a woman need be very anxious to be his wife. If it were nol for the children! I was fourteen, and he was eighteen, when the first one was born. The other child did not come for tour years. I was not happy at home. Papa Macquart, for the merest ttifle, would beat me. I might have married, I suppose."

She^dried her hands, which were red underwe white soap suds. "The water is very hard in Paris," she said.

Madame Boche had finished her work long before, but she continued to dabble in the water merely as an excuse to hear this story,which for two weeks had excited her curiosity. Her mouth was open, and her eyes were shining with satisfaction* at having guessed so well "Ohl yes, just as I knew she said to herself, "but the little woman talks too much! I was sure, though, there had been a quarrel."

Then aloud: "He is not good to you, then?" "He was very good to me once," answered Gervaise, "but since we came to Paris he has changed. His mother died last year, and left him about seventeen hundred francs'. He wished to come to Paris, and as Father Macquart was in the habit of hitting me in the face without any warning, said I would come too, which we did, with the two children. I meant to be a fine laundress, and he was to continue with his trade as a hatter. We might have been very happy. But you see, Lantier is extravagant he likes expensive things, and think6 of his amusement before anything else. He is not good for much, anyhow!

We arrived at the Hotel Montmartre. We had dinner and carriage*, suppers and theatres, a watch for him, a silk dress for me—for he is not selfish when he has naohey. You can easily imagine therefore, at the end of two months, we were cleaned out Then it was that we came to Hotel Boncoeur, and. that this life began." She checked herself with a Strange choking in her throat. Tears gathered in her eyes. She finished brushing her linen,

UI

must get my scalding water," she murmured. But Madame Boche, much annoyed at this sudden interruption to the long deeired confidence, called the boy. "Charles," she said, "it would be very good of you if vou would bring a pail of hot water to Madame Lantier, as she is in a great hurry."

The boy brought a bucket full, and Gervaise paid hun a sou. It was a son for each bucket. She turned the hot water into her tub and soaked her linen once more and rubbed it with her hands, while the steam hovered around her blonde head like a cloud. "Here, take some of this," said the Concierge, as she emptied into the water that Gervaise was using, the remains of a package of bicarbonate of soda. She offered her also some eau de javelle, but the young woman refused, "it was only good," she said, "for grease spots and wine stains." "I thought him somewhat dissipated,"^ said Madame Boche, referring to Lantier

withotit naming his*. GOT raise, leaning over arras, up to the elbows in nodded, in acquiascnce

n«wt

i6dl

W

continue^

Ha. all,-th«a»*wo.

Hie liEes to knlgh, jgirls who are with us, you knewy Adele fand Vigginie, like to laugh too. fhev "have their little jokes together, but that is all there is of it, am sure,"'

The young woman with, the pecspiration standing on her bnow, and her arma still dripping, looked her full In the face* with earnest, inquiring eves.

Then the€enet«qp» Wutine exeited^ and struck her breast*exclaiming: "I tell yon|know nothing whatever, nothing morfe than I tell -you!"

Then she added in a gentle voice, "But he has honest eyes my dear. He will marry you child, I promise that he will marry you^

Gervaise dried her forehead with her damp hand and shook her bg*d- The two women were silent for a mOfnentf around them (0 it was very quiet. The clock struck eleven. Many of the wornen were seated swinging_their feet, drink* ing their wine and eating their sausages, sandwiched between slices of bread. An. occasional economical housewife hurried in with a small bundle under her arm, and a few sounds of the pcunder were still heard at intervals sentences were smothered in the full mouths, or a laugh was uttered, endinglira gurgling sound as the wine was swallowed, while the great machine puffed steadily on. No^ one of the wBmen, however heard it it was like the very respirition of the. Lavatoiy—the eager breath that (drove up among the rafters the floating vapor that filled the room. „.^v

The heat gradually became intolerable. The sun shone in through the high windows, imparting to the vapor opaline tints—the palest rose and tender blue' fading into soft grays. When the wo* men began to grumble, the boy Charles went from one window to the other, drawing down the heavy linen shades. Then he crossed to the other side, the shady side, an4 opened the blinds' There was a general exclamation gt joy —a formidable explosion of gayety!

All this time Gervaise was going on with her task and had .just completed the washing of her colorefljpieccs, which she. threw over a trestletinJirip. soon sniall &s pools of blue water stood on the floor.. Then she began to rinse the garments in cold water, which ran from a spigot near by. •.» "You have nearly finished," said Mad-*r ame Boche. "I am waiting to help you wring them." "Oh! you are very good. It is not necessary though," answered the young woman, as she swashed the garments through the clear water. "If I had# sheets I would not refuse your offer, however."

Nevertheless she accepted thei aid of the Concierge. They took up a brown woolen skirt badly faded, from which poured out a yellow stream as the two women wruns it together.

Suddenly Madame Boche cried OUt: "Look! There comes the Big Virginiei She is actually coming here to wash her rags tied up in a handkerchief."

Gervaise looked up quickly. Virginie was a woman about her own age—larger and taller than herself, a brunette, and Pretty in spite of the elongated oval of her face. She wore an old black dress with flounces and a red ribbon at her throat. Her hair was carefully arranged and massed in a blue chenille net.

She hesitated a moment in the centre aisle and half shut her eyes, as if looking tor something or somebody, bat when she distinguished Gervaise she went toward her with a haughty, insolent air and supercilious smile, and finally established herself, only a short distance from her. "That is new notion!" ftiut&red Mad-' am Boche, in a low voice. "She was never known before to tub out even a pair of cuffs. She is a lazy creatnre, I do assure you. She never sews the buttons on her boots. She is just like her sis-:. ter, that minx of an Adele, who stays away from the shop twodays outof three. What is she rubbing now? A shirt, isit? It is dirty enoug,h I am sure!" was clear that Madam Boche wished to please Gervaise. The truth was she often took coffee with Adele and Virg* inle, when the two sisters were in funds. Gervaise did not reply, but worked faster than before. She was now preparing her blueing water in a small tub standing on three legs. She dipped in her pieces, shook them about in the colored water, which was almost a lake in hue, and then wringing them, she shook them out, and threw tnem lightly over the high wooden bars.

While she did this she kept her back well turned on Big Virginie. But she felt that the girl was looking at her, and she heard an occasional derisive sni^f. Virginie in fact, seemed to have come there to provoke her, and when Gervaise turned around the two women fixed their eyefc-en each other. "Let her be," murmured MaJam Boche*

She is not the one, nowi tell you!" At this moment, as Gervaise was shaking her last piece of linen, sne heare' laughing and talking at the door of the Lavatory... "Two chil4«en are here asking for their mother!" cried Charles,

AU the women looked around, and ,, Gervaise recognized Blaude and Etienne« As soon as they saw her they ran toward her splashing through the puddles, their? untied shoes half off, and Claude, the eldest, dragging his little brother by the hand.

The women as they passed uttered kindly exclamations of pity, lor the children were evidently frightened. They clutched their mother's skirts and buried their pretty blond heads. "Did papa,send you?" asked Gervaise.

But as she stooped to tieEUenne's shoes, she saw on Claube's finger the key of her room, with its copper .tag and number.

Did you bring the key?" she exclaimed in great surprise. "And why, prav?" The child looked down on the key hanging on his finger, which he had apparently forgotten. This seemed to remind him of something, and he said, in a clear shrill voice: "Papa is gone!" "He went to buy your breakfast, did

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