No, really, it was comical how all that was becoming realized! She no longer worked, she no longer ate, she slept on filth, her husband frequented all sorts of wineshops, and her husband drubbed her at all hours of the day; all that was left for her to do was to die on the pavement, and it would not take long if on getting into her room, she could only pluck up courage to fling herself out of the window.

Was it not enough to make one think that she had hoped to earn thirty thousand francs a year, and no end of respect?
Ah! really, in this life it is no use being modest; one only gets sat upon.
Not even pap and a nest, that is the common lot.
What increased her ugly laugh was the recollection of her grand hope of retiring into the country after twenty years passed in ironing.

Well! she was on her way to the country.

She was going to have her green corner in the Pere-Lachaise cemetery.
When she entered the passage she was like a mad-woman.

Her poor head was whirling round.