hen he learnt that Lantier's mother, a worthy woman, was
willing to take charge of the child. He kept Gervaise, however; she was
then already earning twenty-five sous a day, and he therefore avoided
all question of marriage. Four years later she had a second child, which
was likewise taken in by Lantier's mother. This time Macquart shut his
eyes altogether. And when Fine timidly suggested that it was time to
come to some understanding with the tanner, in order to end a state of
things which made people chatter, he flatly declared that his daughter
should not leave him, and that he would give her to her lover later on,
"when he was worthy of her, and had enough money to furnish a home."

This was a fine time for Antoine Macquart. He dressed like a gentleman,
in frock-coats and trousers of the finest cloth. Cleanly shaved, and
almost fat, he was no longer the emaciated ragged vagabond who had been
wont to frequent the taverns. He dropped into cafes, read the papers,
and strolled on the Cours Sauvaire. He played the gentleman as long as
he had any money in his pocket. At times of impecuniosity he remained at
home, exasperated at being kept in his hovel and prevented from taking
his customary cup of coffee. On such occasions he would reproach the
whole human race with his poverty, making himself ill with rage and
envy, until Fine, out of pity, would often give him the last silver coin
in the house so that he might spend his evening at the cafe. This dear
fellow was fiercely selfish. Gervaise, who brought home as much as sixty
francs a month, wore only thin cotton frocks, while he had black satin
waistcoats made for him by one of the best tailors in Plassans.

Jean, the big lad who earned three or four francs a day, was perhaps
robbed even more impudently. The cafe where his father passed entire
days was just opposite his master's workshop, and while he had plane or
saw in hand he could see "Monsieur" Macquart on the other side of the
way, sweetening his coffee or playing piquet with some petty annuitant.
It was his money that the lazy old fellow was gambling away. He, Jean,
never stepped inside a cafe, he never had so much as five sous to pay
for a drink. Antoine treated him like a little girl, never leaving him a
centime, and always demanding an exact account of the manner in which he
had employed his time. If the unfortunate lad, led away by some of
his mates, wasted a day somewhere in the country, on the banks of the
Vio