Hours went by, three o'clock struck, and then such dark clouds rolled
over the livid sky, that the girl herself became blurred, obscured, as if
she were some mere piece of wreckage cast into the darkness. At times she
raised her head and watched the sky darken, with eyes that glittered as
if to thank it for throwing so dense a gloom over that deserted corner,
that spot so fit for an ambuscade. And just as the rain had once more
begun to fall, a lady could be seen approaching, a lady clad in black,
quite black, under an open umbrella. While seeking to avoid the puddles
in her path, she walked on quickly, like one in a hurry, who goes about
her business on foot in order to save herself the expense of a cab.
From some precise description which she had obtained, Toinette, the girl,
appeared to recognize this lady from afar off. She was indeed none other
than Madame Angelin, coming quickly from the Rue de Lille, on her way to
the homes of her poor, with the little chain of her little bag encircling
her wrist. And when the girl espied the gleaming steel of that little
chain, she no longer had any doubts, but whistled softly. And forthwith
cries and moans arose from a dim corner of the vacant ground, while she
herself began to wail and call distressfully.
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