The face of Madame Mangepain was cold and deadly in its fury. “You’ve done it now. You’ve finished the Master. The doctor says he’ll never see again. He’ll be blind, do you hear; blind. A great artist, a genius worth a dozen little trollops like you. Now go, and an old woman’s curse go with you!”
With that Madame Mangepain took her by the shoulders and threw her into the street. She heard the door bang behind her. She was alone in Paris.
CHAPTER THREE
THE BISTRO ON THE RUE DE BELVILLE
THE crash of the closing door struck a note of terror in the girl’s heart. It was long after midnight, and she was at the mercy of this sinister city. She tripped over a box of ash-pan refuse that stood on the edge of the pavement; from it ran two large rats. Afraid to be longer in the unlighted street she made her way down to the Boulevard de Clichy.
On the Butte another hectic night had ended. In the cafés the waiters were stacking the tables; the theatres were dark and silent, the girls of the pavement loitering homeward with their men. Only from the rakehell restaurants of the Place Pigalle did there issue sounds of revelry. It was Montmartre of the profligate, of the apache. Under the greenish glare of the electric light the girl cowered, a tiny black shadow in a world of sinister shadows. Then sinking down on one of the benches she gave herself up to despair.
Now and again a man addressed her; but she kept her face hidden in her arched arms and did not answer. She trembled at every footstep; the hours seemed endless; she longed for the dawn.
Chilled through she rose and walked on. Two gendarmes looked curiously at her. She was afraid they would arrest her, and quickened her steps. She kept moving until she was exhausted, then she sank down on another bench.
Stale and jaded, like a drab after a night of excess the dawn came in. The sallow light seemed to shudder up the sky. Already the city gave signs of awakening to another day. The milk-merchants opened their doors; boys on bicycles delivered bundles of newspapers; the bakers took down their shutters. From where she sat, Margot watched a number of work-girls buy fresh rolls, then go to a little bar across the way, and eat their déjeuner of bread and coffee. Soon bells sounded from neighbouring factories, and the girls hurried away.
From the little bar came a woman. At first Margot thought she was a dwarf, but a second glance showed her to be a hunchback. She was very clean and tidy. Her face had that look of patient suffering so often seen on the faces of hunchbacks. It was a very kind, sweet face, but with a certain shrewdness. She nodded to Margot in a friendly way.
“Well, dearie, things going well?”