‘Yes, do,’ said Mahoudeau, looking very vexed. ‘Besides, I am going out; you can give me a sitting on Sunday.’ At this Claude, stupefied, fairly stared at the emaciated Mathilde, and then at the huge vintaging woman. ‘What?’ he cried, ‘is it madame who poses for that figure? The dickens, you exaggerate!’ Then the laughter began again, while the sculptor stammered his explanations. ‘Oh! she only poses for the head and the hands, and merely just to give me a few indications.’ Mathilde, however, laughed with the others, with a sharp, brazen-faced laughter, showing the while the gaping holes in her mouth, where several teeth were wanting. ‘Yes,’ resumed Mahoudeau. ‘I have to go out on some business now. Isn’t it so, you fellows, we are expected over yonder?’ He had winked at his friends, feeling eager for a good lounge. They all answered that they were expected, and helped him to cover the figure of the vintaging girl with some strips of old linen which were soaking in a pail of water. However, Mathilde, looking submissive but sad, did not stir. She merely shifted from one place to another, when they pushed against her, while Chaîne, who was no longer painting, glanced at her over his picture. So far, he had not opened his lips. But as Mahoudeau at last went off with his three friends, he made up his mind to ask, in his husky voice: ‘Shall you come home to-night?’ ‘Very late. Have your dinner and go to bed. Good-bye.’ Then Chaîne remained alone with Mathilde in the damp shop, amidst the heaps of clay and the puddles of water, while the chalky light from the whitened windows glared crudely over all the wretched untidiness.