An auctioneer would have sold the entire stock
and fixtures for a few shillings. Four stone jars, and a couple
of pairs of scales, a few odd tumblers, filled with pipes and
packets of cigarettes, some wine-glasses, and three or four
labelled bottles, five or six boxes of cigars, and as many
packages of musty tobacco, constituted the entire stock in trade.
As Chupin compared this vile den with the viscount's luxurious
abode, his blood fairly boiled in his veins. "He ought to be shot
for this, if for nothing else," he muttered through his set teeth.
"To let his wife die of starvation here!" For it was M. de
Coralth's wife who kept this shop. Chupin, who had seen her years
before, recognized her now as she sat behind her counter, although
she was cruelly changed. "That's her," he murmured. "That's
certainly Mademoiselle Flavie."
He had used her maiden name in speaking of her. Poor woman! She
was undoubtedly still young--but sorrow, regret, and privations,
days spent in hard work to earn a miserable subsistence, and
nights spent in weeping, had made her old, haggard, and wrinkled
before her time. Of her once remarkable beauty naught remained
but her hair, which was still magnificent, though it was in wild
disorder, and looked as if it had not been touched by a comb for
weeks; and her big black eyes, which gleamed with the
phosphorescent and destructive brilliancy of fever.
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