To reach her mother’s room from her own, Séverine who was eight had to go down a long hallway. She disliked the trip, and invariably ran all the way. But one morning Séverine was brought up short halfway down the corridor. A door leading to the bathroom had just opened. A plumber appeared: short, squat. From under sparse reddish lashes his eyes contemplated the girl. Bold as she was, Séverine was scared, took a step back.
Her movement decided him. He glanced around sharply and grabbed Séverine with both hands. An odor of gas, of animal strength closed against her. Two ill-shaven lips burned her neck. She fought back.
The workman laughed silently, sensually. Under her frock his hands slipped over the soft flesh. Suddenly Séverine stopped struggling. She was stiff, white. The man put her on the floor and left noiselessly.
Séverine’s governess found her lying in the hallway. She thought the girl had slipped. So did Séverine.