But Madame Goujet cried out. That chemise was not hers, she would have nothing to do with it. Her things were changed now; it was too bad! Only the week before, there were two handkerchiefs which hadn’t her mark on them. It was not to her taste to have clothes coming from no one knew where. Besides that, she liked to have her own things.
“And the sheets?” she resumed. “They’re lost, aren’t they? Well! Woman, you must see about them, for I insist upon having them to-morrow morning, do you hear?”
There was a silence which particularly bothered Gervaise when she noticed that the door to Goujet’s room was open. If he was in there, it was most annoying that he should hear these just criticisms. She made no reply, meekly bowing her head, and placing the laundry on the bed as quickly as possible.
Matters became worse when Madame Goujet began to look over the things, one by one. She took hold of them and threw them down again saying:
“Ah! you don’t get them up nearly so well as you used to do. One can’t compliment you every day now. Yes, you’ve taken to mucking your work—doing it in a most slovenly way. Just look at this shirt-front, it’s scorched, there’s the mark of the iron on the plaits; and the buttons have all been torn off. I don’t know how you manage it, but there’s never a button left on anything. Oh! now, here’s a petticoat body which I shall certainly not pay you for. Look there! The dirt’s still on it, you’ve simply smoothed it over. So now the things are not even clean!”
She stopped whilst she counted the different articles. Then she exclaimed:
“What! This is all you’ve brought? There are two pairs of stockings, six towels, a table-cloth, and several dish-cloths short. You’re regularly trifling with me, it seems! I sent word that you were to bring me everything, ironed or not. If your apprentice isn’t here on the hour with the rest of the things, we shall fall out, Madame Coupeau, I warn you.”
At this moment Goujet coughed in his room. Gervaise slightly started. Mon Dieu! How she was treated before him. And she remained standing in the middle of the rooms, embarrassed and confused and waiting for the dirty clothes; but after making up the account Madame Goujet had quietly returned to her seat near the window, and resumed the mending of a lace shawl.
“And the dirty things?” timidly inquired the laundress.
“No, thank you,” replied the old woman, “there will be no laundry this week.”