actually sleeping. Madame Roustan smothered a
noisy yawn, and after a while she started to undress,
having carefully closed and bolted the shutters.
Divesting herself of her skirt and blouse she stood
forth in a short cotton petticoat and black stays, the
latter supporting her breasts at a lofty and somewhat
aggressive angle. Her fat legs ended disconcertingly
in a pair of very tight high-heeled shoes which cut
into the flesh of her insteps and ankles. She was above
all a creature of routine, as methodical in personal
habits as in business. For years she had dressed and
undressed by rote and at this stage she always let down
her hair, so that now she withdrew the discoloured
bronze hairpins; after which she scraped her scalp
with the comb and proceeded to brush out the con-
sequent dandruff. Having made a firm plait —for
her hair was still thick — she untied the strings of her
coarse undergarments, and these neatly disposed of
on a neighbouring chair, she heaved a deep sigh of
anticipation, for the moment of release had arrived
at last; she had longed for this moment intensely
all the evening. Madame Roustan released herself
from her stays, and the heavy white flesh billowed out
unrebuked as her figure resumed its natural propor-
tions; and the breath passed freely through her long-
suffering lungs, since her belly had ceased to be one
with her bosom. But not all the flea-bitten tick-
pestered dogs who rubbed against walls or sat scratch-
ing at corners, not all that mangy and bastard crew
could have itched more consumedly than did Madame
Roustan. Slipping a hand beneath her chemise,
she scratched with a kind of agonized rapture.
It was while she was scratching the small of her
back that she suddenly heard a surreptitious noise
as of someone lurking under the bed. Panic-stricken
she stood, and her fingers stiffened. As she listened
came the sound of a body that moved, that appeared