though abandoning herself to the blackness of desolation, a dark, deep
pit into which she seemed to be falling.

"Come, my dear, pull yourself together!" murmured Madame Boche.

"If you only knew! If you only knew!" said she at length very faintly.
"He sent me this morning to pawn my shawl and my chemises to pay for
that cab."

And she burst out crying. The memory of the events of that morning
and of her trip to the pawn-place tore from her the sobs that had been
choking her throat. That abominable trip to the pawn-place was the thing
that hurt most in all her sorrow and despair. Tears were streaming down
her face but she didn't think of using her handkerchief.

"Be reasonable, do be quiet, everyone's looking at you," Madame Boche,
who hovered round her, kept repeating. "How can you worry yourself so
much on account of a man? You loved him, then, all the same, did you,
my poor darling? A little while ago you were saying all sorts of things
against him; and now you're crying for him, and almost breaking your
heart. Dear me, how silly we all are!"

Then she became quite maternal.

"A pretty little woman like you! Can it be possible? One may tell you
everything now, I suppose. Well! You recollect when I passed under your
window, I already had my suspicions. Just fancy, last night, when Adele
came home, I heard a man's footsteps with hers. So I thought I would
see who it was. I looked up the staircase. The fellow was already on the
second landing; but I certainly recognized Monsieur Lantier's overcoat.