She no longer worked, she no longer ate, she slept on filth, her husband frequented all sorts of wineshops, and her husband drubbed her at all hours of the day; all that was left for her to do was to die on the pavement, and it would not take long if on getting into her room, she could only pluck up courage to fling herself out of the window.
Was it not enough to make one think that she had hoped to earn thirty thousand francs a year, and no end of respect?
Ah! really, in this life it is no use being modest; one only gets sat upon.
Not even pap and a nest, that is the common lot.
What increased her ugly laugh was the recollection of her grand hope of retiring into the country after twenty years passed in ironing.
Well! she was on her way to the country.
She was going to have her green corner in the Pere-Lachaise cemetery.
When she entered the passage she was like a mad-woman.
Her poor head was whirling round.
At heart her great grief was at having bid the blacksmith an eternal farewell.
All was ended between them; they would never see each other more.
Then, besides that, all her other thoughts of misfortune pressed upon her, and almost caused her head to split.
As she passed she poked her nose in at the Bijards’ and beheld Lalie dead, with a look of contentment on her face at having at last been laid out and slumbering forever.
Ah, well! children were luckier than grown-up people.
And, as a glimmer of light passed under old Bazouge’s door, she walked boldly in, seized with a mania for going off on the same journey as the little one.
That old joker, Bazouge, had come home that night in an extraordinary state of gaiety.
He had had such a booze that he was snoring on the ground in spite of the temperature, and that no doubt did not prevent him from dreaming something pleasant, for he seemed to be laughing from his stomach as he slept.
The candle, which he had not put out, lighted up his old garments, his black cloak, which he had drawn over his knees as though it had been a blanket.
On beholding him Gervaise uttered such a deep wailing that he awoke.
“Mon Dieu! shut the door! It’s so cold!
Ah! it’s you!
What’s the matter?
What do you want?”
Then, Gervaise, stretching out her arms, no longer knowing what she stuttered, began passionately to implore him:
“Oh! take me away!
I’ve had enough; I want to go off. You mustn’t bear me any grudge.
I didn’t know.
One never knows until one’s ready. Oh, yes; one’s glad to go one day!
Take me away! Take me away and I shall thank you!”
She fell on her knees, all shaken with a desire which caused her to turn ghastly pale.
Never before had she thus dragged herself at a man’s feet.
Old Bazouge’s ugly mug, with his mouth all on one side and his hide begrimed with the dust of funerals, seemed to her as beautiful and resplendent as a sun.
The old fellow, who was scarcely awake thought, however, that it was some sort of bad joke.
“Look here,” murmured he, “no jokes!”
“Take me away,” repeated Gervaise more ardently still.
“You remember, I knocked one evening against the partition; then I said that it wasn’t true, because I was still a fool. But see! Give me your hands. I’m no longer frightened.
Take me away to by-by; you’ll see how still I’ll be. Oh! sleep, that’s all I care for.
Oh! I’ll love you so much!”
Bazouge, ever gallant, thought that he ought not to be hasty with a lady who appeared to have taken such a fancy to him.
She was falling to pieces, but all the same, what remained was very fine, especially when she was excited.
“What you say is very true,” said he in a convinced manner.
“I packed up three more to-day who would only have been too glad to have given me something for myself, could they but have got their hands to their pockets. But, little woman, it’s not so easily settled as all that — “
“Take me away, take me away,” continued Gervaise,
“I want to die.”
“Ah! but there’s a little operation to be gone through beforehand — you know, glug!”
And he made a noise in his throat, as though swallowing his tongue. Then, thinking it a good joke, he chuckled.
Gervaise slowly rose to her feet.
So he too could do nothing for her.
She went to her room and threw herself on her straw, feeling stupid, and regretting she had eaten.
Ah! no indeed, misery did not kill quickly enough.