"Not sick, I hope," added Fouchette.
"Oh! no; only——"
"Drinking?"
"Like a fish!"
"Poor Madeleine!"
"She's a beast!" cried Madame Podvin.
Madame Podvin sold vile liquor but despised the fools who drank it, and in this she was not singular.
"Is she——" Mlle. Fouchette raised her eyes heavenward inquiringly.
"No,—she's in the street. Ever since she got out of the hospital she has been going from bad to worse every day. And she owes me two weeks' lodging. If she doesn't pay up soon I'll——"
Whatever the Podvin intended to do with Madeleine she left it unsaid, for the latter stood in the doorway.