There was an outrageous scene: the sisters fought, clawing and scratching
one another desperately, and could not be separated until Beauchene,
Mathieu, and Morange, attracted by the extraordinary uproar, rushed into
the workroom and restored a little order. Fortunately for Beauchene,
Euphrasie did not know the whole truth, and Norine, after giving her
employer a humble, supplicating glance, kept silence; but old Moineaud
was present, and the public revelation of his daughter's shame sent him
into a fury. He ordered Norine out of the works forthwith, and threatened
to throw her out of window should he find her at home when he returned
there in the evening. And Beauchene, both annoyed at the scandal and
ashamed at being the primary cause of it, did not venture to interfere.
It was only after the unhappy Norine had rushed off sobbing that he found
strength of mind to attempt to pacify the father, and assert his
authority in the workroom by threatening to dismiss one and all of the
girls if the slightest scandal, the slightest noise, should ever occur
there again.

Mathieu was deeply pained by the scene, but kept his own counsel. What
most astonished him was the promptness with which Beauchene regained his
self-possession as soon as Norine had fled, and the majesty with which he
withdrew to his office after threatening the others and restoring order.
Another whom the scene had painfully affected was Morange, whom Mathieu,
to his surprise, found ghastly pale, with trembling hands, as if indeed
he had had some share of responsibility in this unhappy business. But
Morange, as he confided to Mathieu, was distressed for other reasons. The
scene in the workroom, the revelation of Norine's condition, the fate
awaiting the girl driven away into the bleak, icy streets, had revived
all his own poignant worries with respect to Valerie. Mathieu had already
heard of the latter's trouble from his wife, and he speedily grasped the
accountant's meaning. It vaguely seemed to him also that Morange was