Denise was so menaced amid this general clearance, that she lived in the constant expectation of a catastrophe. It was in vain that she summoned up her courage, struggling with all her gaiety and all her reason not to yield to the misgivings of her tender nature; she burst out into blinding tears as soon as she had closed the door of her bedroom, desolated at the thought of seeing herself in the street, on bad terms with her uncle, not knowing where to go, without a sou saved, and having the two children to look after. The sensations she had felt the first few weeks sprang up again, she fancied herself a grain of seed under a powerful millstone; and, utterly discouraged, she abandoned herself entirely to the thought of what a small atom she was in this great machine, which would certainly crush her with its quiet indifference. There was no illusion possible; if they sent away any one from her department she knew it would be her. No doubt, during the Rambouillet excursion, the other young ladies had incensed Madame Aurélie against her, for since then that lady had treated her with an air of severity in which there was a certain rancour. Besides, they could not forgive her going to Joinville, regarding it as a sign of revolt, a means of setting the whole department at defiance, by parading about with a young lady from a rival counter. Never had Denise suffered so much in the department, and she now gave up all hope of conquering it. “Let them alone!” repeated Pauline, “a lot of stuck-up things, as stupid as donkeys!” But it was just these fine lady airs which intimidated Denise. Nearly all the saleswomen, by their daily contact with the rich customers, assumed certain graces, and finished by forming a vague nameless class, something between a work-girl and a middle-class lady. But beneath their art in dress, and the manners and phrases learnt by heart, there was often only a false superficial education, the fruits of attending cheap theatres and music-halls, and picking up all the current stupidities of the Paris pavement. “You know the 'unkempt girl' has got a child?” said Clara one morning, on arriving in the department. And, as they seemed astonished, she continued: “I saw her yesterday myself taking the child out for a walk! She's got it stowed away in the neighbourhood, somewhere.” Two days after, Margueritte came up after dinner with another piece of news. “A nice thing, I've just seen the 'unkempt girl's' lover--a workman, just fancy! Yes, a dirty little workman, with yellow hair, who was watching her through the windows.” From that moment it was an accepted truth: Denise had a workman for a lover, and an infant concealed somewhere in the neighbourhood. They overwhelmed her with spiteful allusions. The first time she understood she turned quite pale before the monstrosity of their suppositions. It was abominable; she tried to explain, and stammered out: “But they are my brothers!”