The concierge referred to the battle, spoke
of her emotions, and talked of examining the young woman's person, just
to see.

"You may, perhaps, have something broken. I heard a tremendous blow."

But Gervaise wanted to go home. She made no reply to the pitying remarks
and noisy ovation of the other women who surrounded her, erect in their
aprons. When she was laden she gained the door, where the children
awaited her.

"Two hours, that makes two sous," said the mistress of the wash-house,
already back at her post in the glazed closet.

Why two sous? She no longer understood that she was asked to pay for her
place there. Then she gave the two sous; and limping very much beneath
the weight of the wet clothes on her shoulder, the water dripping from
off her, her elbow black and blue, her cheek covered with blood, she
went off, dragging Claude and Etienne with her bare arms, whilst they
trotted along on either side of her, still trembling, and their faces
besmeared with their tears.

Once she was gone, the wash-house resumed its roaring tumult. The
washerwomen had eaten their bread and drunk their wine. Their faces were
lit up and their spirits enlivened by the fight between Gervaise and
Virginie.

The long lines of tubs were astir again with the fury of thrashing
arms, of craggy profiles, of marionettes with bent backs and slumping
shoulders that twisted and jerked violently as though on hinges.
Conversations went on from one end to the other in loud voices. Laughter
and coarse remarks crackled through the ceaseless gurgling of the water.
Faucets were sputtering, buckets spilling, rivulets flowing underneath
the rows of washboards. Throughout the huge shed rising wisps of steam
reflected a reddish tint, pierced here and there by disks of sunlight,
golden globes that had leaked through holes in the awnings. The air was
stiflingly warm and odorous with soap.

Suddenly the hall was filled with a white mist. The huge copper lid of
the lye-water kettle was rising mechanically along a notched shaft, and
from the gaping copper hollow within its wall of bricks came whirling
clouds of vapor. Meanwhile, at one side the drying machines were hard
at work; within their cast-iron cylinders bundles of laundry were being
wrung dry by the centrifugal force of the steam engine, which was still
puffing, steaming, jolting the wash-house with the ceaseless labor of
its iron limbs.

When Gervaise turned into the entry of the Hotel Bon