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