"Only
this time I had scarcely taken up my needle when I heard a terrible
uproar in the shop. I hurried downstairs to put a stop to it--but heaven
knows my interference would have been of little use. The three men who
had come in first of all had fallen upon the newcomer, and they were
beating him, my good sir, they were killing him. I screamed. Just then
the man who had come in alone drew a revolver from his pocket; he fired
and killed one of his assailants, who fell to the ground. I was so
frightened that I crouched on the staircase and threw my apron over
my head that I might not see the blood run. An instant later Monsieur
Gevrol arrived with his men; they forced open the door, and behold--"
The Widow Chupin here stopped short. These wretched old women, who have
trafficked in every sort of vice, and who have tasted every disgrace,
at times attain a perfection of hypocrisy calculated to deceive the most
subtle penetration. Any one unacquainted with the antecedents of the
landlady of the Poivriere would certainly have been impressed by her
apparent candor, so skillfully did she affect a display of frankness,
surprise, and fear. Her expression would have been simply perfect, had
it not been for her eyes, her small gray eyes, as restless as those of a
caged animal, and gleaming at intervals with craftiness and cunning.
There she stood, mentally rejoicing at the success of her narrative, for
she was convinced that the magistrate placed implicit confidence in her
revelations, although during her recital, delivered, by the way, with
conjurer-like volubility, not a muscle of M.
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