Free The Drinking Den by Émile Zola

morning and brought the sobs welling up from her throat where they had been stifling her. That trip was an abomination, the pain at the centre of her despair. The tears were running down her chin, already wet from her hands, but she didn’t think to wipe it with her handkerchief.
    â€˜Hush, hush! Be sensible, now, people are looking,’ Mme Boche said, fussing about her. ‘I don’t know how you can get so upset over a man! Are you still in love with him, then, you poor thing? A moment ago, you didn’t have a good word for him, now look at you, weeping over him, breaking your heart… My God, what fools we are!’
    Then she adopted a maternal tone.
    â€˜A pretty little thing like you! If you’ll let me… I can tell you everything now, I suppose. You remember how I came by your window earlier? Well, I had my suspicions then… You see, last night, when Adèle came back, I heard a man’s footsteps alongside hers. I wanted to know what was going on, so I had a look up the stairs. The party in question was on the second floor by that time, but I definitely recognized Monsieur Lantier’s coat. Boche, who was on the lookout this morning, saw him coming down, without turning a hair… That was with Adèle, you understand. Virginie’s got a gentleman now, that she goes to visit two or three times a week. Even so, it’s not decent, because they’ve only got the one room and an alcove, so I don’t know quite where Virginie can have slept.’
    She paused for a moment, turned round, then continued in her coarse, gruff voice: ‘She’s laughing to see you cry, that heartless bitch over there. I bet whatever you like that washing of hers is just an excuse… She packed the other two off and came down here to see how you were taking it.’
    Gervaise removed her hands and looked. Seeing Virginie in front of her, standing amid with three or four other women, whispering and staring at her, she was seized with an insane fury. Holding her arms in front of her and searching about the floor, she turned round, trembling in every limb, took a few steps, found a full bucket, grasped it in both hands and hurled the contents at the bigger woman.
    â€˜The old hag!’ Virginie shouted.
    She had leaped back and only her button boots were splashed. Butthe wash–house, which had been engrossed for a time by the young woman’s tears, hurried forward to watch the coming battle. Some women, still finishing their sandwiches, climbed up on the tubs, while others, their hands covered in soap, ran forward and formed a circle.
    â€˜Oh, the old hag!’ Virginie repeated. ‘What’s got into the loopy bitch?’
    Gervaise had halted, her chin thrust forward and her face contorted. She said nothing in reply, not having acquired the Parisian gift of the gab. The other woman went on:
    â€˜Just look at her! Got tired of the country, where soldiers used to make a mattress of her before she was even twelve, and left a leg behind there… Rotted away with the clap, that leg did –’
    There was a burst of laughter. Virginie, flushed with success, took a couple of steps forward, drew herself up to her full height and shouted more loudly still:
    â€˜Yeah! Come over here and I’ll take care of you! I tell you this, you’d have done better not to come bothering us… What does she mean to me, the cow? I’d have given her backside a good tanning if she’d splashed me, I can tell you. Perhaps she’d like to tell us what I’ve done to her… Come on, you trollop, what’ve I done to you?’
    â€˜Don’t go on like that,’ Gervaise stuttered. ‘You know very well… My husband was seen, last night… And shut your mouth or, I promise, I’ll wring your neck.’
    â€˜Her husband! Huh, that’s a good one! The lady’s husband! As though anyone had a husband with that leg of hers! It’s