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!"