“She herself had passed, during the night, through every stage of horror and of fear. Soon after midnight that execrable brigand Rateau had poked his ugly, cadaverous face in at the door and peremptorily called for Lucienne. The woman, more dead than alive now with terror, had answered with mechanical obedience. “I and my friends are thirsty,” the man had commanded. “Go and fetch us a litre of eau-de-vie.” Poor Lucienne stammered a pitiable: “Where shall I go?” “To the house at the sign of ‘Le f...ort Samson,’ in the Rue de Seine,” replied Rateau curtly. “They’ll serve you well if you mention my name.” Of course Lucienne protested. She was a decent woman, who had never been inside a cabaret in her life. “Then it’s time you began,” was Rateau’s dry comment, which was greeted with much laughter from his abominable companions. Lucienne was forced to go. It would, of course, have been futile and madness to resist. This had occurred three hours since. The Rue de Seine was not far, but the poor woman had not returned.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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