As for me,
my eyes are done for; I ruined them by working ten hours a day at fine
needlework. And now I can no longer even try to mend anything without my
eyes filling with water till I can't see at all. I've tried to find
charwoman's work, but I can't get any; bad luck always follows us. And so
we are in need of everything; we've nothing but black misery, two or
three days sometimes going by without a bite, so that it's like the
chance life of a dog that feeds on what it can find. And with these last
two months of bitter cold to freeze us, it's sometimes made us think that
one morning we should never wake up again. But what would you have? I've
never been happy, I was beaten to begin with, and now I'm done for, left
in a corner, living on, I really don't know why."
Her voice had begun to tremble, her red eyes moistened, and Pierre could
realise that she thus wept through life, a good enough woman but one who
had no will, and was already blotted out, so to say, from existence.
"Oh! I don't complain of Salvat," she went on. "He's a good fellow; he
only dreams of everybody's happiness, and he doesn't drink, and he works
when he can. Only it's certain that he'd work more if he didn't busy
himself with politics. One can't discuss things with comrades, and go to
public meetings and be at the workshop at the same time.
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