That night Denise slept but little. Insomnia, interspersed with nightmare, kept her turning over and over in her bed. It seemed to her that she was again quite a little girl and burst into tears, in their garden at Valognes, on seeing the blackcaps eat up the spiders, which themselves devoured the flies. Was it then really true that it was necessary for the world to fatten on death, that it was necessary there should be this struggle for existence whereby humanity drew even increase of life from the ossuaries of eternal destruction? And afterwards she again found herself before the grave into which they had lowered Geneviève, and then she perceived her uncle and aunt alone in their gloomy dining-room. A dull sound as of something toppling sped through the still atmosphere; it was Bourras's house giving way, as if undermined by a high tide. Then silence fell again, more sinister than ever, and a fresh crash was heard, then another, and another; the Robineaus, the Bédorés, the Vanpouilles, were cracking and falling in their turn; all the small shops of the Saint-Roch quarter were disappearing beneath an invisible pick, with the sudden, thundering noise of bricks falling from a cart. Then intense grief awoke her with a start. Heavens! what tortures! There were families weeping, old men thrown into the street, all the poignant dramas of ruin! And she could save nobody; and even felt that it was right, that all this compost of misery was necessary for the health of the Paris of the future. When day broke, she became calmer, but a feeling of resigned sadness still kept her awake, turned towards the window whose panes were brightening. Yes, it was the needful meed of blood, every revolution required martyrs, each step forward is taken over the bodies of the dead. Her fear of being a wicked girl, of having helped to effect the ruin of her kindred, now melted into heartfelt pity, in face of these evils beyond remedy, which are like the labour pangs of each generation's birth. She finished by trying to devise some possible comfort, her kindly heart dreaming of the means to be employed in order to save her relations at least from the final crash.
And now Mouret appeared before her with his impassioned face and caressing eyes. He would certainly refuse her nothing; she felt sure that he would accord all reasonable compensations. And her thoughts strayed, seeking to judge him. She knew his life and was aware of the calculating nature of his former affections, his continual "exploitation" of woman, his intimacy with Madame Desforges—the sole object of which had been to get hold of Baron Hartmann—and with all the others, such as Clara and the rest. But these Lothario-like beginnings, which were the talk of the shop, gradually disappeared in presence of the man's genius and victorious grace. He was seduction itself. What she could never have forgiven was his former deception: real coldness hidden beneath a gallant affectation of affection. But she felt herself to be entirely without rancour now that he was suffering through her. This suffering had elevated him. When she saw him tortured by her refusal, atoning so fully for his former disdain for woman, he seemed to her to make amends for many of his faults.
That very morning Denise obtained from Mouret a promise of whatever compensation she might consider reasonable on the day when the Baudus and old Bourras should succumb. Weeks passed away, during which she went to see her uncle nearly every afternoon, escaping from her department for a few minutes and bringing her smiling face and girlish courage to enliven the dark shop. She was especially anxious about her aunt, who had fallen into a dull stupor ever since Geneviève's death; it seemed as if her life was quitting her hourly; though, when people questioned her, she would reply with an astonished air that she was not suffering, but simply felt as if overcome by sleep. The neighbours, however, shook their heads, saying she would not live long to regret her daughter.
One day Denise was coming from the Baudus, when, on turning the corner of the Place Gaillon, she heard a loud cry. A crowd rushed forward, a panic arose: that breath of fear and pity which suddenly brings all the people in a street together. It was a brown omnibus, belonging to the Bastille-Batignolles line, which had run over a man, at the entrance of the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, just opposite the fountain. Standing up in his seat, the driver whilst furiously holding in his two black horses which were rearing cried out, in a great passion:
"Confound it! Confound it! Why don't you look out, you idiot!"
The omnibus had now been brought to a standstill. The crowd had surrounded the injured man, and a policeman happened to be on the spot. Still standing up and invoking the testimony of the outside passengers who had also risen, to look over and see the blood-stains, the coachman, with exasperated gestures and choked by increasing anger, was explaining the matter.
"It's something fearful," said he. "Who could have expected such a thing? That fellow was walking along quite at home and when I called out to him he at once threw himself under the wheels!"
Then a house-painter, who had run up, brush in hand, from a neighbouring shop-front, exclaimed in a sharp voice, amidst the clamour: "Don't excite yourself! I saw him, he threw himself under! He jumped in, head first, like that. Another one tired of life, no doubt!"
Others spoke up, and all agreed that it was a case of suicide, whilst the policeman pulled out his note-book and made an entry. Several ladies, all very pale, quickly alighted and ran away without looking back, filled with horror by the sudden shaking which had stirred them when the omnibus passed over the body. Denise, however, drew nearer, attracted by a practical pity, which prompted her to interest herself in the victims of all sorts of street accidents, such as wounded dogs, horses down, and tilers falling off roofs. And she immediately recognised the unfortunate fellow who had fainted away there in the road, his clothes covered with mud.
"It's Monsieur Robineau!" she exclaimed, in her grievous astonishment.