Boche, who was on the watch this morning, saw him tranquilly nod adieu.
He was with Adele, you know. Virginie has a situation now, where she
goes twice a week. Only it's highly imprudent all the same, for they've
only one room and an alcove, and I can't very well say where Virginie
managed to sleep."

She interrupted herself an instant, turned round, and then resumed,
subduing her loud voice:

"She's laughing at seeing you cry, that heartless thing over there. I'd
stake my life that her washing's all a pretence. She's packed off the
other two, and she's come here so as to tell them how you take it."

Gervaise removed her hands from her face and looked. When she beheld
Virginie in front of her, amidst three or four women, speaking low and
staring at her, she was seized with a mad rage. Her arms in front of
her, searching the ground, she stumbled forward a few paces. Trembling
all over, she found a bucket full of water, grabbed it with both hands,
and emptied it at Virginie.

"The virago!" yelled tall Virginie.

She had stepped back, and her boots alone got wet. The other women, who
for some minutes past had all been greatly upset by Gervaise's tears,
jostled each other in their anxiety to see the fight. Some, who were
finishing their lunch, got on the tops of their tubs. Others hastened
forward, their hands smothered with soap. A ring was formed.

"Ah! the virago!" repeated tall Virginie. "What's the matter with her?
She's mad!"