She suddenly took her hands from her face, and overcome by the wrath of a loving and deceitful woman, a furious wrath that enabled her to recover her speech, she pantingly jerked out, in rapid and broken sentences: “Oh!—you wretch—you wretch—what a scoundrel you are—can it be possible? How shameful—O Lord—how shameful!” Then, getting angrier and angrier as her ideas grew clearer and arguments suggested themselves to her, she went on: “It was with my money you paid her, wasn’t it? And I was giving him money—for that creature. Oh, the scoundrel!” She seemed for a few minutes to be seeking some stronger expression that would not come, and then all at once she spat out, as it were, the words: “Oh! you swine—you swine—you swine—you paid her with my money—you swine—you swine!” She could not think of anything else, and kept repeating, “You swine, you swine!”
Suddenly she leant out of the window, and catching the driver by the sleeve, cried, “Stop,” and opening the door, sprang out.
George wanted to follow, but she cried, “I won’t have you get out,” in such loud tones that the passersby began to gather about her, and Duroy did not move for fear of a scandal. She took her purse from her pocket and looked for some change by the light of the cab lantern, then taking two francs fifty centimes she put them in the driver’s hand, saying, in ringing tones: “There is your fare—I pay you, now take this blackguard to the Rue Boursault, Batignolles.”
Mirth was aroused in the group surrounding her. A gentleman said: “Well done, little woman,” and a young rapscallion standing close to the cab thrust his head into the open door and sang out, in shrill tones, “Good night, lovey!” Then the cab started off again, followed by a burst of laughter.