Their unknown hidden life had hitherto followed a peaceful course, the
only battle being to make both ends meet every week, and to put by the
rent money for payment every quarter. During the eight years that the
sisters had been living together in the Rue de la Federation near the
Champ de Mars, occupying the same big room with cheerful windows, a room
whose coquettish cleanliness made them feel quite proud, Norine's child
had grown up steadily between his two affectionate mothers. For he had
ended by confounding them together: there was Mamma Norine and there was
Mamma Cecile; and he did not exactly know whether one of the two was more
his mother than the other. It was for him alone that they both lived and
toiled, the one still a fine, good-looking woman at forty years of age,
the other yet girlish at thirty.
Now, at about ten o'clock that Sunday, there came in succession two loud
knocks at the door. When the latter was opened a short, thick-set fellow,
about eighteen, stepped in. He was dark-haired, with a square face, a
hard prominent jaw, and eyes of a pale gray. And he wore a ragged old
jacket and a gray cloth cap, discolored by long usage.
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