“Yes,” Gervaise said, “I had an errand to do, and so I came out.”
She felt deeply ashamed and was afraid to try to explain. Yet she realized that they had come here to discuss it. It remained a troublesome burden.
Then, all in a rush, with tears in her eyes, she told him of the death that morning of Madame Bijard, her washerwoman. She had suffered horrible agonies.
“Her husband caused it by kicking her in the stomach,” she said in a monotone. “He must have damaged her insides. Mon Dieu! She was in agony for three days with her stomach all swelled up. Plenty of scoundrels have been sent to the galleys for less than that, but the courts won’t concern themselves with a wife-beater. Especially since the woman said she had hurt herself falling. She wanted to save him from the scaffold, but she screamed all night long before she died.”
Goujet clenched his hands and remained silent.
“She weaned her youngest only two weeks ago, little Jules,” Gervaise went on. “That’s lucky for the baby, he won’t have to suffer. Still, there’s the child Lalie and she has two babies to look after. She isn’t eight yet, but she’s already sensible. Her father will beat her now even more than before.”
Goujet gazed at her silently. Then, his lips trembling:
“You hurt me yesterday, yes, you hurt me badly.”
Gervaise turned pale and clasped her hands as he continued:
“I thought it would happen. You should have told me, you should have trusted me enough to confess what was happening, so as not to leave me thinking that—”