Great, indeed, was the change which had come over this unfortunate girl. Stout to repulsiveness, shabby of attire, fiery of face, unsteady of pose, with one bright beautiful eye burning with the supernatural fire of absinthe, the other sealed in internal darkness.
"Oh! Madeleine——" began Mlle. Fouchette, painfully impressed and hesitating.
"What! No! Fouchette? Mon ange!"
The drunken woman staggered forward to embrace her friend.
"Why, Madeleine——"
"Hold! And first tell me your bad news. You know you always bring me bad news, deary. You hunt me up when you have bad news. Come, now!"
"Là, là, là, là!" trilled Mlle. Fouchette, passing her arm around the other's thick waist to gain time.
"Come! mon ange,—we'll have a drink anyhow. Mère! some absinthe,—we have thirst."
"No, no; not now, Madeleine."
"Not a drop here!" said Madame Podvin, seeing that Mlle. Fouchette was not disposed to pay.