illed her. She looked upon him as an
assassin. She conceived a horror of him, she avoided him, fled from him
as from the evil genius of her life, with the terror that one has of a
person who is one's Bane!

XXV

One morning, after a night passed by her in turning over and over in her
mind all her despairing, hate-ridden thoughts, Germinie went to the
creamery for her four sous' worth of milk and found in the back-shop
three or four maids from the neighborhood engaged in "taking an
eye-opener." They were seated at a table, gossiping and sipping
liqueurs.

"Aha!" said Adele, striking the table with her glass; "you here already,
Mademoiselle de Varandeuil?"

"What's this?" said Germinie, taking Adele's glass; "I'd like some
myself."

"Are you so thirsty as all that this morning? Brandy and absinthe,
that's all!--my soldier boy's _tap_, you know,--he never drank anything
else. It's a little stiff, eh?"

"Ah! yes," said Germinie, contracting her lips and winking like a child
who is given a glass of liqueur with the dessert at a grand
dinner-party.

"It's good, all the same." Her spirits rose. "Madame Jupillon, let's
have the bottle--I'll pay."

And she tossed money on the table. After the third glass, she cried: "I
am _tight_!" And she roared with laughter.

Mademoiselle de Varandeuil had gone out that morning to collect her
half-yearly income. When she returned at eleven o'clock, she rang once,
twice! no one came. "Ah!" she said to herself, "she must have gone
down." She opened the door with her key, went to her bedroom and looked
in: the mattress and bedclothes lay in a heap on two chairs, and
Germinie was stretched out across the straw under-mattress, sleeping
heavily, like a log, in the utterly relaxed condition following a sudden
attack of lethargy.

At the noise made by mademoiselle, Germinie sprang to her feet and
passed her hand over her eyes.--"Yes?" she said, as if some one had
called her; her eyes were wandering.

"What's happened?" said Mademoiselle de Varandeuil in alarm; "did you
fall? Is anything the matter with you?"

"With me? no," Germinie replied; "I fell asleep. What time is it?
Nothing's the matter. Ah! what a fool!"

And she began to shake the mattress, turning her back to her mistress to
hide the flush of intoxication on her face.

XXVI

One Sunday morning Jupillon was dressing in the room Germinie had
furnished for him. His mother was sitting by, gazing at him wit