Hers was an infinite sorrow: it overwhelmed her with its depth and immensity.

Labordette wanted to comfort her as touching Georges, but she silenced him with a gesture and blurted out: "It isn't only he; it's everything, everything.

I'm very wretched.

Oh yes, I know! They'll again be saying I'm a hussy.

To think of the mother mourning down there and of the poor man who was groaning in front of my door this morning and of all the other people that are now ruined after running through all they had with me! That's it; punish Nana; punish the beastly thing! Oh, I've got a broad back! I can hear them as if I were actually there! 'That dirty wench who lies with everybody and cleans out some and drives others to death and causes a whole heap of people pain!'" She was obliged to pause, for tears choked her utterance, and in her anguish she flung herself athwart a divan and buried her face in a cushion.