them; those who
remained stretched out their necks, their eyes lighted up with a gleam
of cruelty, admiring the pluck displayed. Madame Boche had led Claude
and Etienne away, and one could hear at the other end of the building
the sound of their sobs, mingled with the sonorous shocks of the two
beetles. But Gervaise suddenly yelled. Virginie had caught her a whack
with all her might on her bare arm, just above the elbow. A large red
mark appeared, the flesh at once began to swell. Then she threw herself
upon Virginie, and everyone thought she was going to beat her to death.

"Enough! Enough!" was cried on all sides.

Her face bore such a terrible expression, that no one dared approach
her. Her strength seemed to have increased tenfold. She seized Virginie
round the waist, bent her down and pressed her face against the
flagstones. Raising her beetle she commenced beating as she used to beat
at Plassans, on the banks of the Viorne, when her mistress washed the
clothes of the garrison. The wood seemed to yield to the flesh with a
damp sound. At each whack a red weal marked the white skin.

"Oh, oh!" exclaimed the boy Charles, opening his eyes to their full
extent and gloating over the sight.

Laughter again burst forth from the lookers-on, but soon the cry,
"Enough! Enough!" recommenced. Gervaise heard not, neither did she tire.
She examined her work, bent over it, anxious not to leave a dry
place. She wanted to see the whole of that skin beaten, covered with
contusions. And she talked, seized with a ferocious gaiety, recalling a
washerwoman's song,

"Bang! Bang! Margot at her tub.
Bang! Bang! Beating rub-a-dub.
Bang! Bang! Tries to wash her heart.
Bang! Bang! Black with grief to part."

And then she resumed,

"That's for you, that's for your sister.
That's for Lantier.
When you next see them,
You can give them that.
Attention! I'm going to begin again.
That's for Lantier, that's for your sister.
That's for you.
Bang! Bang! Margot at her tub.
Bang! Bang! Beating rub-a-dub--"

The others were obliged to drag Virginie away from her. The tall, dark
girl, her face bathed in tears and purple with shame, picked up her
things and hastened away. She was vanquished. Gervaise slipped on the
sleeve of her jacket again, and fastened up her petticoats. Her arm
pained her a good deal, and she asked Madame Boche to place her bundle
of clothes on her shoulder.