The count dashed recklessly forward,
glanced through a half-open door and saw a very dirty room which
resembled a barber's shop in a poor part of the town. In was furnished
with two chairs, a mirror and a small table containing a drawer which
had been blackened by the grease from brushes and combs. A great
perspiring fellow with smoking shoulders was changing his linen there,
while in a similar room next door a woman was drawing on her gloves
preparatory to departure. Her hair was damp and out of curl, as though
she had just had a bath. But Fauchery began calling the count, and the
latter was rushing up without delay when a furious "damn!" burst from
the corridor on the right. Mathilde, a little drab of a miss, had just
broken her washhand basin, the soapy water from which was flowing out to
the stairhead. A dressing room door banged noisily. Two women in their
stays skipped across the passage, and another, with the hem of her shift
in her mouth, appeared and immediately vanished from view. Then followed
a sound of laughter, a dispute, the snatch of a song which was suddenly
broken off short. All along the passage naked gleams, sudden visions
of white skin and wan underlinen were observable through chinks in
doorways.
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