w his chair close up to
the bed and finished his pipe, holding Gervaise's hand in his. He smoked
slowly, deeply affected and uttering sentences between the puffs.

"Well, old woman, they've made your head ache, haven't they? You see I
couldn't prevent them coming. After all, it shows their friendship. But
we're better alone, aren't we? I wanted to be alone like this with you.
It has seemed such a long evening to me! Poor little thing, she's had
a lot to go through! Those shrimps, when they come out into the world,
have no idea of the pain they cause. It must really almost be like being
split in two. Where is does it hurt the most, that I may kiss it and
make it well?"

He had carefully slid one of his big hands under her back, and now
he drew her toward him, bending over to kiss her stomach through the
covers, touched by a rough man's compassion for the suffering of a woman
in childbirth. He inquired if he was hurting her. Gervaise felt very
happy, and answered him that it didn't hurt any more at all. She was
only worried about getting up as soon as possible, because there was
no time to lie about now. He assured her that he'd be responsible for
earning the money for the new little one. He would be a real bum if he
abandoned her and the little rascal. The way he figured it, what really
counted was bringing her up properly. Wasn't that so?

Coupeau did not sleep much that night. He covered up the fire in
the stove. Every hour he had to get up to give the baby spoonfuls of
lukewarm sugar and water. That did not prevent his going off to his work
in the morning as usual. He even took advantage of his lunch-hour to
make a declaration of the birth at the mayor's. During this time Madame
Boche, who had been informed of the event, had hastened to go and
pass the day with Gervaise. But the latter, after ten hours of sleep,
bewailed her position, saying that she already felt pains all over her
through having been so long in bed. She would become quite ill if they
did not let her get up. In the evening, when Coupeau returned home, she
told him all her worries; no doubt she had confidence in Madame Boche,
only it put her beside herself to see a stranger installed in her room,
opening the drawers, and touching her things.

On the morrow the concierge, on returning from some errand, found her
up, dressed, sweeping and getting her husband's dinner ready; and it was
impossible to persuade her to go to bed again. They were trying to