She continued to complain until everyone was so exasperated that they one and all shouted out in anger.
However, she went on all the same. She carried on a conversation with an imaginary person till the occupants of the room were driven to distraction. Now and again her voice dropped as though she were going off to sleep, then suddenly she cried out in a shriller voice, and those who had dropped off into a slumber awoke with a start and frightened her badly, but despite their anger she would not stop.
Perrine wondered if it really was to be like that every Sunday. How could they put up with her? Was there no place in Maraucourt where one could sleep peacefully?
It was not alone the noise that disturbed her, but the air was now so stifling that she could scarcely breathe.
At last La Noyelle was quiet, or rather it was only a prolonged snore that came from her lips.
But although all was silent Perrine could not sleep. She was oppressed. It seemed as though a hammer was beating on her forehead, and she was perspiring from head to foot.
It was not to be wondered at. She was suffocating for want of air; and if the other girls in the room were not stifled like her, it was because they were accustomed to this atmosphere, which to one who was in the habit of sleeping in the open air was unbearable.
But she thought that if they could endure it she should. But unfortunately one does not breathe as one wishes, nor when one wishes. If she closed her mouth she could not get enough air into her lungs.
What was going to happen to her? She struggled up in bed, tearing at the paper which replaced the window pane against which her bed was placed. She tore away the paper, doing so as quietly as possible so as not to wake the girls beside her. Then putting her mouth to the opening she leaned her tired little head on the window sill. Finally in sheer weariness she fell asleep.