Gervaise, standing on the defensive, her chin thrust out, her features
convulsed, said nothing, not having yet acquired the Paris gift of
street gab. The other continued:

"Get out! This girl's tired of wallowing about in the country; she
wasn't twelve years old when the soldiers were at her. She even lost her
leg serving her country. That leg's rotting off."

The lookers-on burst out laughing. Virginie, seeing her success,
advanced a couple of steps, drawing herself up to her full height, and
yelling louder than ever:

"Here! Come a bit nearer, just to see how I'll settle you! Don't you
come annoying us here. Do I even know her, the hussy? If she'd wetted
me, I'd have pretty soon shown her battle, as you'd have seen. Let her
just say what I've ever done to her. Speak, you vixen; what's been done
to you?"

"Don't talk so much," stammered Gervaise. "You know well enough. Some
one saw my husband last night. And shut up, because if you don't I'll
most certainly strangle you."

"Her husband! That's a good one! As if cripples like her had husbands!
If he's left you it's not my fault. Surely you don't think I've stolen
him, do you? He was much too good for you and you made him sick. Did
you keep him on a leash? Has anyone here seen her husband? There's a
reward."

The laughter burst forth again. Gervaise contented herself with