The Dogs and the Wolves by Irène Némirovsky

regularly sent them money to live on. They had rented an apartment in Paris with Madame Mimi and shared the cost. It wasn’t exactly what Madame Mimi had led them to expect . . . The elderly lady had not been able to contact many of her old friends; she didn’t know why. Some had died, others moved away. Some of them didn’t seem to remember her. Besides, it was wartime . . .
    For two years, the life of the Sinners and Madame Mimi was calm, mediocre, melancholy. Then the Revolution swept through Russia, dragging along everything in its wake and then destroying it all, including, with a great deal of other debris, the life, the destiny and even the memory of Israel Sinner.
    With no further rent payments coming from Russia, their State Bonds now worthless, Aunt Raissa revealed what she herself had always known: she was no ordinary soul. With the little money she had managed to save, she bought some cloth patterns and two tailor’s dummies; she taught her daughter and her niece how to cut fabric, and, by stealth and by force, wrenched from Madame Mimi the few valuables she had left – some jewellery, gifts from the Prince and mementos from happier times – and she became a seamstress.
    If there was anything presumptuous about a poor Jewess from an isolated province in the Ukraine selling dresses to Parisian ladies, she dismissed the thought.
    They sublet Madame Mimi’s apartment and found a small three-bedroom flat in the Ternes area, where the bourgeoisie and the upper classes crossed paths and often merged, like two tributaries of the same river.
    Their furnished apartment smelled of dust and that unique odour found only on the premises of inexpensive dressmakers: cooking, wool and the cheap, strong perfume the clients wore. The windows were rarely opened: both Aunt Raissa and Madame Mimi feared fresh air. Lilla got a job at a music hall, Ben delivered the dresses to the clients, while Ada was used by her aunt for all sorts of jobs: sewing, collecting up the pins, measuring the ladies, copying the patterns that they secretly stole. She was given food and lodging, and showered with abuse. Aunt Raissa had never spared Ada her criticism, but it became more and more bitter with each passing day. Not only because Ada was now her financial responsibility, but because, without realising it, she was a constant reminder to the elderly woman of how Lilla had come down in the world; her Lilla, in whom she had placed so much hope and who was now only just good enough to parade naked on a music hall stage, Lilla, who was letting herself lose her youth, her beauty, and who couldn’t even manage to find a rich lover! Men all fell in love with Lilla, but through a kind of mocking twist of fate, she only met the poor ones: married, petit-bourgeois men, cautious and mean with money, or second-rate opportunists.
    When Ada was fifteen and had become pretty, her aunt felt a deep loathing for her. Ada responded by being insolent: since childhood, this had been her most powerful weapon. It was a strange fact that the old woman’s anger only cooled when Ada replied with the most insolent, witty retort she could think of. Aunt Raissa wouldn’t let it rest, however. She’d always had asharp tongue and she was grateful to her niece for giving her a chance to use it, just as a professional duellist enjoys facing a worthy opponent on the field of battle. Unfortunately, she had one fault that was common in women: she loved winning. She caused endless scenes and, endowed with an implacable memory, she never let go of former grudges when new ones arose, thus tirelessly repeating and embellishing the same issues, varying her arguments in a fashion that was truly creative. She was like a wasp who sinks its sting into you, but then continues to buzz around you.
    Her niece stood up to her, but increasingly Ada took refuge within herself; her imagination was so fertile and strange that nothing could really offend or hurt her. When Aunt Raissa began