, and last the slamming of the
outer door. Then nothing stirred, and she was alone.

All alone, all alone. Over the bed hung her mother's dressing-gown,
flung there at random, the skirt bulging out and a sleeve lying across
the bolster, so that the garment looked like some person who had
fallen down overwhelmed with grief, and sobbing in misery. There was
some linen scattered about, and a black neckerchief lay on the floor
like a blot of mourning. The chairs were in disorder, the table had
been pushed in front of the wardrobe, and amidst it all she was
quite alone. She felt her tears choking her as she looked at the
dressing-gown which no longer garmented her mother, but was stretched
there with the ghastly semblance of death. She clasped her hands, and
for the last time wailed, "Mamma! mamma!" The blue velvet hangings,
however, deadened the sound. It was all over, and she was alone.

Then the time slipped away. The clock struck three. A dismal, dingy
light came in through the windows. Dark clouds were sailing over the
sky, which made it still gloomier. Through the panes of glass, which
were covered with moisture, Paris could only be dimly seen; the watery
vapor blurred it; its far-away outskirts seemed hidden by thick smoke.
Thus the city even was no longer there to keep the child company, as
on bright afternoons, when, on leaning out a little, it seemed to her
as though she could touch each district with her hand.

What was she to do? Her little arms tightened in despair against her
bosom. This desertion seemed to her mournful, passing all bounds,
characterized by an injustice and wickedness that enraged her. She had
never known anything so hateful; it struck her that everything was
going to vanish; nothing of the old life would ever come back again.
Then she caught sight of her doll seated near her on a chair, with its
back against a cushion, and its legs stretched out, its eyes staring
at her as though it were a human being. It was not her mechanical
doll, but a large one with a pasteboard head, curly hair, and eyes of
enamel, whose fixed look sometimes frightened her. What with two
years' constant dressing and undressing, the paint had got rubbed off
the chin and cheeks, and the limbs, of pink leather stuffed with
sawdust, had become limp and wrinkled like old linen. The doll was
just now in its night attire, arrayed only in a bed-gown, with its
arms twisted, one in the air and the other hanging downwards. When