Marta's history can be told very briefly. It is a story of which there are many similar. She was born out of wedlock to a mother who was the daughter of a rich and independent farmer; her mother had been driven from home when she was heavy with child. In time, Marta had been given in servitude to a modiste. This modiste, Mademoiselle Laura Cameron, kept a fashionable hat and gown store in one of the few elegant thoroughfares of Moscow. Marta was not yet fourteen years of age when she became a servant of this sweet, lisping but keenly selfish woman who exercised parental rights over the little girl and abused her with hard work and harsh treatment. In exchange she paid her small wages which Marta had to deliver to her mother, who received the money by making her signature on a slip of paper. This signature consisted of three crosses, because mother and daughter could not read nor write. Maria's mother refused some offers to sell the girl as a serf. She had taken a room in the poorer quarters and had done such odd jobs as a woman could find, barely enough to keep them alive. Worried and exhausted by hardship, she had finally consented to die, leaving her little girl to shift alone.
Maria did not dare tell this to her employer, because she feared that Madame Laura would make a real serf out of her right away, taking her into the house where she kept a few girls already. Instead, she received the small wages and signed with the crosses as if her mother were still alive. This and many more things she told Grushenka, who in turn related her story. Of course, this all took several days-rather nights, because Maria went to her work early and came home at sunset. Meanwhile Grushenka stayed in the poor room, sleeping in the big bed and not going out for fear that she would be picked up by the police or by the searchers of Sophia. However, with the gold pieces which Mikhail had left in Grushenka's little hand, they had a wonderful time-together, eating and drinking what money could buy.
But it was apparent that this could not go on forever, so they decided that Maria should tell her mistress that a cousin of hers had arrived in the city and desired to enter her services. Moved by Maria's raving description, Madame Laura consented to take a look at Grushenka and thus they went one fine morning to the store of this commanding lady. Maria had bought Grushenka some clothes such as a farm girl might wear when she came to the city: a multi-colored blouse, a pleated skirt, a kerchief to be wound around the head, all very becoming to Grushenka, who, much to her advantage, displayed the tan on her cheeks which the country life on Sokolov's estate had left there. Maria-stout and stocky, with a round, good-hearted face, certainly not pretty, but young and unspoiled-hesitated several times on the way. Of course she had given her girl friend a description of Madame Laura and her establishment, and, of course, Grushenka had seen hard treatment in her almost twenty years of serfdom and did not expect to be treated with lad gloves. But had not Marta given too good an account of that which would be in store for Grushenka? To ease her mind, she told Grushenka frankly that she had suppressed many unpleasant features which the work for Madame Laura would carry with it. Grushenka, however, had decided to go through with it. What could she do? There were no labor markets where jobs could be found.
Labor was conducted by the members of a family in small enterprises; the bigger ones bought serfs. Some trades requiring craftmanship, such as carpentry or pottery, hired workers, but only through their own guilds. Furthermore, if Grushenka should really have the luck to be hired by Madame Laura, could not she and Marta live together and continue those heavenly nights, during which Grushenka could rave about her heavenly Mikhail? Work and mistreatment? Was Grushenka not used to that since early childhood? Marta made the sign of the cross and they entered Madame Laura's. Through a gilded door covered with fresh garlands of flowers they came info a huge salesroom with a low ceiling and elegant furniture. Grushenka's eye, trained through her work as clothes horse for the Princess, detected with pleasure the thick array of woman's styles, expensive materials, good craftsmanship-this must be a store for the very rich! Crossing the room, they entered the second salesroom, consisting of a small hallway which parted half, a dozen private rooms equipped with huge mirrors, easy chairs and couches. Of course there were no customers at this early morning hour, but a few attractive girls were busy cleaning and dusting. The third room on the ground floor was Madame's sumptuously furnished private office. Madame Laura was not yet in; in fact, she would not come before noon, and Grushenka went with Marta to the sewing room on the next floor. Fifteen or more girls already sat at their work, sewing, cutting and trying on the hats, gowns, dresses and underwear created under the supervision of two elderly expert modistes. Marta joined the workers while Grushenka sat modestly on a chair and watched, eager to do this kind of work so pleasing to her female instinct for beautifying. At last one of the girls came from downstairs, notifying Marta and Grushenka that they were wanted by the mistress. Madame Laura received the girls with her sweetest smile complimenting them on being two such lovely cousins.
She scrutinized Grushenka with sharp eyes, asking her whether she had learned sewing with “her dear mother” and asking many questions about her and Marta's home village, but not waiting for any answers.
Everything seemed to go well as the girls shamefacedly stuttered a few words but did not dare to glance at each other. But Madame Laura's keen sense of people, which had brought her her clientele and fortune, suspected that something was wrong. For example, where did this girl, supposed to have come from the country, get those silk stockings and those shoes? Then she detected the well manicured and soft hands, which surely were not those of a tramp from a village.
Madame Laura moved around to her desk chair of rosewood with brass heads on the arms. She had Marta close the door and put Grushenka in the full light opposite herself. She concentrated her attention all the more on this newcomer because the girl seemed to be unusually well made, obliging and certainly a business proposition if rightly developed. She wanted to see more of her, and demanded that Grushenka take off her kerchief and blouse, under the pretext of finding out whether she might be suitable as a model. Grushenka did as she was told without hesitation, thus adding a new proof that she was not a dumb country girl. In fact Grushenka discarded her skirt and drawers also, and Madame Laura had difficulty in suppressing her wholesome admiration: a perfect shape; straight legs, soft but firm flesh, a morsel for the appetite of the most refined taste of any man.
Madame Laura was a connoisseur. Procuring was her most important magnet for securing a clientele, and she made ample use of it. Who was this girl? Of a sudden she changed her tactics, the smile faded, and Marta was in for it! First Madame Laura asked her sharply to tell the truth. But fat little Marta stuck to her story, stuck to it even when Madame Laura's hand, manipulated on Marta's buttocks, caused her to emit many “Oh"' s and “Ah"'s. In Madame Laura's hand was a long needle which Grushenka detected as she stood helplessly aside in her nakedness. After that, Madame Laura began to use stronger means: she opened Marta's blouse, took the girl's left breast from underneath the shirt and, squeezing the breast firmly, pointed the needle anxiously and, as Marta still held to her story, the sharp steel was pricked slowly into her flesh. Marta tried to suppress a howl as a big drop of blood ran slowly down over the milk-white globe. But she clung doggedly to her former assertion. Her face was twisted, tears streamed down her cheeks, but she did not dare tear herself loose and run away. Impatiently Laura rose, took from her desk a short leather whip and demanded that the girl bend over. She tore her drawers down and, as Marta's fat buttocks lay bare, demanded that she tell the truth or be whipped until her flesh was cut to the bone. '
Before Madame Laura could lay the first-smarting blow on the wide target, Grushenka threw herself between her and Marta, exclaiming that she would tell the truth because she could not watch her friend suffer on her behalf. She then related her whole story to the silently listening Madame Laura, who knew that now she learned the true facts.
Here was business for her! But she did not say a word of what was on her mind when Grushenka finally fell at her feet and threw herself at her mercy, imploring her to take her into her services. Instead Madame Laura behaved like a fury and answered that it was an outrage that this run-away slave girl wanted to make her a partner in her crime, reminding her that any person giving shelter or food to a run-away serf was liable to be sent to Siberia. Marta, who had tried to stop Grushenka and who had implored her to let her have her punishment, had to be dealt with first. Laura, who did not want to impair the working value of the girl, gave her six lusty strokes on the bare bottom and sent her away. Marta kissed the hem of her mistress's gown and went weeping back to her work, sending a last pitiful glance at Grushenka who lay sullenly on the floor. Madame Laura speedily got her up, though not without letting her have some lashes from the biting whip. She then led her to one of the empty dressing rooms, locking it resolutely from the outside. While Grushenka, crying helplessly, nude, awaited an uncertain fate between the four partitions of the small dressing room, Madame Laura wrote with her own hand a falsified billet-doux, which she sent away with one of her delivery girls. (We shall hear more about this document later.) As the hours passed, Grushenka stopped crying, having given in to her fate. Probably she would be branded now. They would brand her on the forehead if they sent her away to Siberia, but, if Sophia decided to take her into the whorehouse, she would be branded between the legs or on the shoulder blade so as not to mar her face.
They would lash her, put her on the rack, maybe break her bones… she must wait. She had done wrong. She should not have run away.
She lay motionless on the couch. She heard through the thin partition that the establishment of Madame Laura had become lively.
Deprived of her clothes, she got slowly up from the couch and started to move around in the small dark room. Some light filtered in through cracks in the walls, which she soon found to come from the booths which adjoined hers. She peeked through the crevices and discovered that she had views into the dressing rooms on either side. With the fear of her own fate in her heart, she began watching the happenings alongside of her. In the booth on her right sat an elderly gentleman, very correctly dressed in a long black coat, playing with his three cornered hat. Apparently, he waited for something. The rings on his fingers glittered with precious stones. Grushenka turned to the other wall A stony old woman sat in an easy chair. She was dressed in flashy colors; laces, ribbons and feathers hung all around her as if she were a young chicken. She supported herself with an oak staff, but, despite her old age and crazy dress, her bearing was impressive and commanding. Next to her sat a nondescript woman companion, while Madame Laura and one of her models tried to sell her a hat. The model and Madame Laura took new ones from white and cream colored boxes and described their beauty with sweet smiles and sentimental words, but the customer would not be satisfied. As a matter of fact, the old hawk rejected the idea of buying with the outspoken words which one would have expected from the mouth of an army sergeant. Madame, in turn, poked the model in the ribs and in the back, and, although the girl preserved her frozen smile, there was no doubt that Madame's finger held a needle which drove her saleslady to every possible effort to make the old lady buy. No such luck! She got up, remarking that nothing charming enough could be found to adorn her wrinkled old face, and shuffled out of the room. After Madame had bowed her out, she turned around and hit the model soundly in the face, leaving her to repack the expensive hats. The girl was accustomed to such happenings. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and went slowly but dutifully on with her work. Grushenka turned back to the peephole in the other wall and, as she expected, found Madame and the gentleman in animated conversation. It seemed that the gentleman had just paid a bill to Madame, probably for clothes which his wife had ordered. But he still had something on his mind. Madame knew very well what it was, but made a little play so as not to recognize his wishes too quickly- The gentleman, leaning from one foot to the other and stroking his mustache, finally said that he would like to see some styles, if Madame had a few models who could show him her newest creations. Madame smilingly asked whether he wanted to see the same models as the last time and whether it was not a good idea to show him her new line of underwear. The gentleman hastened to answer that the models the other day had been very lovely indeed, but that he would not mind seeing some others-all very lovely and very obliging, he was sure, if they worked for the famous Madame Laura-and that underwear was quite to his liking.
Madame responded that she would show him a few models, that he should act as Paris did with the Greek Goddesses but-Madame looked down at her hands which played with a few gold pieces. The gentleman smiled, assured her that the delicacy with which she handled the matter could not be surpassed by the most refined French woman-a compliment which Madame ate up eagerly-and he slipped her some more gold rubles. Madame Laura then left him to get her girls. The gentleman took off his long formal coat, displaying a waistcoat with silver buckles matching exactly his shoe buckles. No doubt this man was a dandy. His white wig with pigtail was immaculate, his black breeches and stockings of finest silk. He sat down on the couch and loosened the top button of his trousers with the beaming face of a man who knows that he will be taken care of. Presently Madame came back leading a flock of models, good looking girls with all kinds of figures, from the tiny blonde to the statuesque brunette. The girls wore all types of underwear but were uniform in one respect; they wore no stays, but small bodices, which hardly covered the lower half of their breasts and which left the nipples free. They had on embroidered shirts and long lace trousers, reaching to the ankles. While they walked around in a circle, through the open slits of their pantaloons one could get a glimpse of blonde, brown, or dark hair, an effect arranged that way by Madame, who understood showmanship. The girls hardly looked in the direction of the man; they did not want to attract his attention because they knew that he would pick out one of them for his purposes. He had them go around a few times, smacking his lips and looking them over very carefully. At last he pointed at two of them, both of them small girls without very good figures, at least in the judgement of the watching Grushenka. Madame dismissed the other girls, who left the room with an expression of relief, and, taking 'the two who remained into a corner, she whispered a harsh command.
The girls looked at her anxiously but seemed otherwise unmoved by what she said to them. Turning to the gentleman, Madame Laura now remarked that he had chosen two very obliging girls, but, should he have any complaint, she had a well-working leather whip which would change the mind of any stubborn little brat. Then, with a majestic nod, she left him. The girls sat down on the couch on each side of the man, put their arms around him and cuddled themselves against him with a faint, “Hello, uncle.” He, in turn, put his arms around their backs, grabbed then-breasts and was pleased with their behavior. “Now girls,” he started, “first of all close the slits of your trousers and don't let that nasty hair peek out there. Sure, I believe that you have little nests down there, but who wants to get busy with such dirty little places?” The girls lapped over the sides of their drawers, closing the openings, and continued their dalliance. Cuddling him, one of the girls' hands passed the front of his trousers and he took hold of it and indicated that it was to open up his breeches.
Fumbling around with the buttons, the girls opened up the breeches and took out his instrument. It did not look too enticing to Grushenka. It was red, half-stiff and of a flabby fullness. “Kiss me,” said the gentleman to the other girl, “and put your tongue nicely into my mouth.” He then kissed her mouth, sucking it and glueing his mouth so hard to hers that she became breathless and red in the face.
“Oh!” he interrupted his kissing, “play better with your tongue, you little imp.” And Grushenka could see how the blonde girl made every effort to satisfy him. But she didn't succeed entirely. He let her go and started the same procedure with the brunette, who obediently was holding his machine in her fingers. “Let's see whether you're any better than she is.” She was. She had a broader tongue and rubbed it slowly and more firmly against his teeth and his tongue.
He grunted with pleasure. His sex feeling was swelling, but not his love instrument, which remained in its flabby state. It should be taken care of now, he decided. He arose and crossed to the huge standing mirror, which covered one side of the booth for the try-ons of the female customers. He threw one pillow in front of him, another behind him. Standing sideways before the looking glass, he told the girls to kneel down on these pillows. Of course, Madame had told them what to do, and, after they were on their knees, they pulled his trousers down to his ankles, rolled his gray silken shirt up underneath his vest and got busy. The little blond had Master Priapus before her. She took it in her right hand, put the left hand underneath the instrument and began to run her tongue over his belly, up and down the inside of his thighs, over the machine and its two (in his case, undernourished) companions, which hung limply between his legs. Finally she slipped the point of the shaft into her mouth and started, with easy movements, to slide her lips up and down the stalk-a stalk o which, by the way, was still not stiff. Meanwhile the brunette had opened the cleft of his buttocks with her fingers and, pressing her face firmly towards the cheeks, began to tickle the rim with her able tongue. Grushenka admired her work in that respect.
She even rubbed her own little love nest a bit, imagining that this good little worker was doing the same service to her. The gentleman stood straddle-legged, his hands on the heads of the girls, admiring the picture of this group in the looking glass. Soon, however, he again became dissatisfied with the blonde. “Not that way, you little bitch,” said he. “Take just the end of the shaft between your lips and tickle it with your tongue!” Which was duly executed.
Many minutes passed, both girls breathing heavily from their work, while the man did not seem to be much affected. The brunette had already taken several intermissions in order to give her tongue a rest when suddenly he turned around, now giving her his instrument to kiss.
The blonde stared for a moment at the gaping brown cavity which was presented to her. Apparently she had never done this sort of thing before. But then a certain determination came to her face, as if she was saying to herself: “What's the use? We've got to dip in.” She first rubbed the rim with her fingers to wipe off the moisture which her brunette co-worker had left there. Then she stretched her tongue wide out, as if to loosen it, which tickled Grushenka so much that she almost laughed. The girl then buried her face, and Grushenka could see by the side of her neck that she was licking. Immediately the gentleman demanded more vigor. She leaned back for a moment, glanced in the mirror and seemed to have an idea. She took hold of him again, but seemingly with such passion that he was turned out of his position, almost facing away from the mirror. Of course he grumbled and said that she needed plenty of love education and that he would mention her to Madame. But she pressed her face to one of his cheeks, opened his cleft with the finger of her left hand and began to tickle the passageway with the little finger of her right hand, which she had quickly wet beforehand. The result was excellent. The gentleman started groaning in praise of her ability, congratulated her on her expert tongue and worked himself up to a heat. “Lick it, lick it, you little bitch! Oh, that's good! That's excellent! Why didn't you do it before, you little vixen?…” And so on, while the blonde girl, with a mixture of pride that she was cheating him and fear that he might find her out, played with her little finger on the threshold of his rear entrance, even entering the passageway a bit here and there.
Meanwhile the brunette had worked and worked and she felt now that he was about to reach his goal. Not that he got stiff. But the nerves and muscles of his love-machine twisted and jerked and-there it was- his love juices flooded out. Not in a hot thick spray, but just barely trickling out. o It was not the first shaft which the brunette had manipulated in this manner. In fact this particular type of love-making was the specialty of Madame Laura's establishment, and all her girls were experts. Therefore the brunette did not mind drinking his juice, at the same time squeezing his shaft and embracing him tightly between his legs in order to clean him out thoroughly.
“Very good,” he murmured, pushing the girls away. “Very good.”
“Just stay where you are for a moment,” said the brunette. She got a bowl of water and a towel and did an expert job of cleaning, front and back, quite a lesson for Grushenka, who never had done this before herself. The girls now arranged his trousers properly, even brushed him up-although there was not the faintest dust on his clothes-helped him into his long coat and gave him, like good servant girls, his three-cornered hat with the feathers on it. He spoke good-heartedly with them, scolding the blonde for having teased him at first, saying that he should tell Madame. But it was all done jokingly and Grushenka could see that a very proper and well pleased gentleman left the booth with important steps such as were becoming to an elderly man of standing. Before he left he gave each girl some money.
He had hardly gone, the girls were just adjusting themselves before the mirror, when Madame Laura rushed in. “Turn over the money!” she shouted and extended her hand. “Turn it over and back to your work or I'll speed you up.” To Grushenka's surprise, both girls gave up the money without protest. Madame Laura counted it carefully and was satisfied for this visitor paid well. She pinched the cheeks of the girls and added smilingly: “A funny bird, isn't he? Can't possibly get stiff, and yet he loves his machine. You got rid of him quickly, though. The last time the girls had an awful job until the old fool was able to reach his goal.” And she shuffled her chickens out of the room. This whole scene had been a revelation to Grushenka. Madame Laura apparently had a sideline to her dress business which attracted many customers and which she handled quite openly. The idea shot through Grushenka's head that her girl friend Marta might be used for such purposes also. But then, in spite of her own predicament, she had to laugh at the thought that fat little Marta with her freshly upturned nose could be a love-maker to refined people. Of course Marta was only a sewing girl. When she stopped on the street before she brought Grushenka to Madame Laura, it must have been because she was afraid that Grushenka would be used as a “model.” Now Grushenka was fully aware of the danger she was in. Would Madame Laura send for the police? Would she be turned over to Sophia's house? But just then she heard bustling in the other compartment and went back to her lookout. She discovered a couple shopping for a dress, a long green and fluffy evening gown which they just had bought. The woman, who held the dress in her hand and was giving orders about how to change it to her liking, was about forty years of age, petite, but with an inclination to be fat. Her arms and legs, which seemed always agile, were short, round and unattractive; her swelling bosom, the upper part of which looked out of a rich afternoon gown, showed a red-brown skin. Her deep black eyes were sharp and unkind, while her lips, always pursed in an affected smile, tried to hide her true nature. She was accompanied by her husband, a husky fellow-of her own age, broad-shouldered, dumb and hen-pecked. He repeated everything she said with a silly horse laugh of his own invention and seemed without a will of his own, which he probably did not need, being tied to such a mate. A heated discussion was under way. Madame Laura excitedly praised the value of the gown, while the woman demanded a bargain in consideration of the fact that it was her first purchase in Madame's famous dress house. When a moderate sum was finally agreed upon, the woman looked around towards the models and declared herself satisfied if a certain model would bring the dress to her house that evening. The girl she pointed out was a tall, full-built brunette. Her unusually white skin attracted Grushenka's admiration. Madame Laura looked at this girl for a moment and hesitated. But then, with a bow, she declared that the girl would be at her Ladyship's house and at her service that evening. The husband paid, with a silly laugh and a remark of his own. “A woman must always have it her own way.”
The tall girl's eyes followed the departing customers with a sheepish look. “Are you all right, or are you still unwell?” demanded Madame Laura. The girl lifted up her dress, murmuring an indignant “Oh!” and, opening the slit of her drawers, put her finger into her love nest from which she took a piece of cotton. It seemed clean. Madame took a small piece of white cloth, wrapped it around her finger and inserted the finger deep into the orifice. Upon taking it out again, no blood could be seen. “You fake!” shouted Madame Laura. “Half of the time you tell me you have your menstruation and the other half of the time that you're just getting it. Backing out all the time, eh? And you're stronger than any other girl here.
You little liar! How long ago was it anyway, since you got your last whipping?” “The week after Easter,” answered the girl meekly.
“Well,” retorted her mistress, “you should get a good whipping for lying to me now. But instead you'll go over to those people tonight and you'll do whatever they want-I don't know them yet-and if that Madame is satisfied with you, I'll let you go this time. But if I hear that you have not been perfect, I won't waste my time and my strength on your back again, which is much too tough for my leather whip anyway, but I'll send you over to the police and let you have twenty-five lashes with the knout. That will cure your laziness, you tramp.” (It must be inserted here for the understanding of the modern reader that in Russia servants were sent with a letter and a small fee to the nearest police station, where the requested punishment was inflicted, usually the knout over the back or over the Buttocks. The servant then brought back to his master a receipt for the money and a short account of the punishment inflicted. This custom prevailed even in the larger cities until-the end of the 19th century.) “What do you think this couple want a girl for?” asked one of the girls as they cleared the place up. The question remained unanswered. Grushenka moved about in the semi-darkness of her cage. She didn't dare cry out for help. She was hungry and thirsty.
She remembered that the other booth had some water on a comer table.
She groped around, found a similar table and a silver bowl with water in it. She drank in big gulps and returned to the couch. The minutes were creeping. She heard voices and laughter in the booths next to hers, but she did not care to peek. Then, to get her mind off her own anguish, she went back to one of the peepholes. The scene was worthy of her attention. The woman customer in the room presented an odd appearance. She was about thirty years of age and seemed to be more bony than muscular. She wore a riding costume with straight lines, closely fitted on the neck and wrists. She had very intelligent eyes, a hard mouth and no color in her cheeks, which gave her a very unattractive appearance. She had secured a lovely model from Madame Laura and had certainly paid enough to amuse herself with her.
The model was a natural blonde of medium height with full breasts and an innocent look in her face. She was quite feminine and, although twenty years old, appeared almost childlike. The woman was busy taking off the girl's bodice. She took the soft, milk-white breasts in her bony hands and admired the small nipples. Rubbing them against her cheek and kissing them playfully, she mumbled: “You're a good girl, aren't you? You would not allow those brutes, those men, to touch you.
Would you?” “Oh, no, never!” answered the girl. “Never! I only wait on ladies! Madame Laura would not even allow a man to look at me.” “Yes, such soft breasts, such small nipples, untouched, lovely child,” continued the customer. Becoming more emotional and kneeling down before the girl, she undid her long drawers and took them off her with a caressing gentleness unexpected in a woman with such large hands and feet. She then proceeded to rub her cheeks against the Mount of Venus, going up and down the sides of the girl with tender strokes of her hands. The girl looked into the mirror, unconcerned with what the woman did to her. She teased her breasts a bit, arranged a curl which had left its place and moistened her lips with her tongue to make them look fresh and jolly. She opened her legs mechanically when the woman inserted the index finger of her right hand into her grotto and began to kiss her belly and the blonde curly hair which flowered around the entrance to that enticing cavern.
She gave in readily when the woman moved her over to the couch. There she stretched herself out, rolled and tucked a pillow under her head, let one leg fall down on the floor and bent herself in such a way that her open slit lay on the edge of the couch, readily willing to take what was coming. The woman now began systematically to make love to her, interrupting her tongue-play over and between the lips of the delightful spot with many poetic little outcries, as if she had found a preciously chiseled piece of jewelry. But the owner of this little masterpiece did not seem to be impressed. In fact, when her customer pressed her mouth vigorously to the spot and started to suck with great force-at the same time taking firm hold of the buttocks and pressing them forward towards her strongly working tongue-the blonde rubbed her nose arid smoothed her hair as if she were not even present at the treat which was being given to her love parts. Of course, now and then remembering what it was all about, she put her hand on the head of the lesbian worker, moved her buttocks around in slow convulsions and ejected deep groans. But, getting bored with her own behavior, she quickly forgot to participate. Grushenka was baffled at this coldness-or, rather, insensibility-of the blonde. She sympathized with the excited woman, who now pressed her knees hard together, wiggled her behind in the air, got red in the face and began to sweat in her tight fitting garments. Finally she groaned and the blonde, taking this as a sign that the climax was near, made a last effort and moved strenuously against the sucking mouth with simulated sighs of lust. The woman customer got to her feet, her whole face wet-probably from her own saliva-while the blonde lazily brought some water and a towel and cleaned the moist and perspiring face. Her customer no longer found her the peak of loveliness. “Well, that's that!” the woman said. “You lousy slut, lying on your back for everybody who pays the price. Brats like you should be whipped daily for an hour until they give up their brazen lives and refuse to open their legs for everybody and anybody. You're a Goddamned whore, that's what you are, and not worth the bread you eat. Oh, well, what's the use anyway, you do it for money and here is some.” And she put some money underneath a pillow, apparently as far away as possible, so as not to touch even the skin of the girl's hand. “There, you fat pig.”
And she rushed out of the room. The words had struck home to the blonde and, as she wiped her own love nest dry after the wet attack, she looked her figure over in the mirror with a scrutinizing vanity.
However, Madame Laura rushed in, went straight to the pillow and got the money. “Aha!” thought Grushenka, “Madame is watching also, probably from the other side of the booth.” Madame was not very satisfied with the amount she found. “You really are getting lazier every day,” she turned on the girl. “You have a new boy friend.
Haven't you? And he probably pokes hell out of you. At least you could pretend better than you do. What will happen to your father and yourself if I stop paying him? You won't have a crumb of bread to eat.
But maybe that will do you good, because you're getting fatter every day. Hurry up now and put on some black underwear and the white evening gown with the low neck. There are some customers in booth four. Go on now!” There was nothing more to see in the other booth. Grushenka lay down again on her couch. The time passed. She dozed off until somebody unlocked her door and called her out. It was Marta, come to bring her back to Madame Laura's private room. Madame Laura now had a changed face. She was beaming and full of cordiality.
“My dear girl,” she smiled, “I have given your case a thorough consideration and I agree that you were right to run away from Madame Sophia's service. I am going to help you, and I have a great surprise in store for you. You dress and go home for tonight with your dear friend Marta. Be here tomorrow at noon sharp, and leave it to me. I'll see to it that you'll have a happy future. While I cannot allow myself to harbor a run-away, I'll have a magnificent place for you by tomorrow where you will live like a queen. Quite what you can expect, beautiful as you are…” And so on. Madame Laura even inquired whether they would have something really good to eat tonight or whether she should provide something. And, after the girls assured her they had all they needed, she presented Grushenka with a broad embroidered ribbon, fitting very well with the peasant dress she wore.
The girls curtsied and left the house. Outside, Grushenka related what she had seen, but it was no news to Marta, who had heard of these things but who could not really understand their meaning because she was completely a virgin. But Grushenka lay sleepless and thinking for a long while that night. She mistrusted Madame Laura and would never go back to her. She would have to leave Marta also, without telling her where she was going. Madame Laura would probably hunt for her or send word to the police or to Sophia. Therefore Grushenka would have to drop out of sight. She did not know that Madame Laura had received an answer to her billet-doux from an old gentleman, who had written that he would be pleased to buy such a beauty from Madame Laura but could not come before the next day at noon. He would be disappointed the next day at the noon hour, and Marta would state as her explanation that Grushenka had disappeared, that she must have been picked up by the police. Madame Laura finally joined her in this belief. At least she was satisfied that Marta did not know Grushenka's whereabouts. She was very sore about it, because she would have been able to get a good price for the sale of the girl. However, she did not want to investigate too much, because it was better not to mix into the affairs of a slave girl who had run away.