“Make haste, it's me!”
The saleswomen not being allowed to visit each other in their rooms, Denise quickly unlocked the door, so that her neighbour should not be caught by Madame Cabin, who was supposed to see this rule strictly carried out.
“Was she there?” asked Denise, closing the door.
“Who? Madame Cabin?” replied Pauline. “Oh, I'm not afraid of her, she's easily settled with a five-franc-piece!” Then she added: “I've wanted to have a talk with you for a long time past. But it's impossible to do so downstairs. Besides, you looked so down-hearted to-night at table.”
Denise thanked her, and invited her to sit down, touched by her good-natured air. But in the trouble caused by the sudden visit she had not laid down the shoe she was mending, and Pauline's eyes fell on it at once. She shook her head, looked round and perceived the collar and cuffs in the basin.
“My poor child, I thought as much,” resumed she. “Ah, I know what it is! When I first came up from Chartres, and old Cugnot didn't send me a sou, I many a time washed my own chemises! Yes, yes, even my chemises! I had two, and there was always one in soak.”
She sat down, still out of breath from running. Her large face, with small bright eyes, and big tender mouth, had a certain grace, notwithstanding the rather coarse features. And, without transition, all of a sudden, she related her history; her childhood at the mill; old Cugnot ruined by a lawsuit; her being sent to Paris to make her fortune with twenty francs in her pocket; then her start as a shop-girl in a shop at Batignolles, then at The Ladies' Paradise—a terrible start, all the sufferings and all the privations imaginable; she then spoke of her present life, of the two hundred francs she earned a month, the pleasures she indulged in, the carelessness in which she allowed her days to glide away. Some jewellery, a brooch, a watch-chain, glistened on her dark-blue cloth dress, coquettishly made to the figure; and she wore a velvet hat, ornamented with a large grey feather.
Denise had turned very red, with her shoe. She began to stammer out an explanation.
“But the same thing happened to me,” repeated Pauline.
“Come, come, I'm older than you, I'm over twenty-six, though I don't look it. Just tell me your little troubles.”