sed
to everything. Bread must be earned. All the same, it's a precious dear
loaf, for one risks one's bones more than is fair."

And she left off speaking, hiding Nana in her skirt, fearing a cry from
the little one. Very pale, she looked up in spite of herself. At that
moment Coupeau was soldering the extreme edge of the sheet close to the
gutter; he slid down as far as possible, but without being able to reach
the edge. Then, he risked himself with those slow movements peculiar to
workmen. For an instant he was immediately over the pavement, no long
holding on, all absorbed in his work; and, from below, one could see
the little white flame of the solder frizzling up beneath the carefully
wielded iron. Gervaise, speechless, her throat contracted with anguish,
had clasped her hands together, and held them up in mechanical gesture
of prayer. But she breathed freely as Coupeau got up and returned back
along the roof, without hurrying himself, and taking the time to spit
once more into the street.

"Ah! ah! so you've been playing the spy on me!" cried he, gaily, on
beholding her. "She's been making a stupid of herself, eh, Madame
Boche? She wouldn't call to me. Wait a bit, I shall have finished in ten
minutes."

All that remained to do was to fix the top of the chimney--a mere
nothing. The laundress and the concierge waited on the pavement,
discussing the neighborhood, and giving an eye to Nana, to prevent her
from dabbling in the gutter, where she wanted to look for little fishes;
and the two women kept glancing up at the roof, smiling and nodding
their heads, as though to imply that they were not losing patience. The
old woman opposite had not left her window, had continued watching the
man, and waiting.

"Whatever can she have to look at, that old she-goat?" said Madame
Boche. "What a mug she has!"

One could hear the loud voice of the zinc-worker up above singing, "Ah!
it's nice to gather strawberries!" Bending over his bench, he was now
artistically cutting out his zinc. With his compasses he traced a line,
and he detached a large fan-shaped piece with the aid of a pair of
curved shears; then he lightly bent this fan with his hammer into the
form of a pointed mushroom. Zidore was again blowing the charcoal in the
chafing-dish. The sun was setting behind the house in a brilliant rosy
light, which was gradually becoming paler, and turning to a delicate
lilac. And, at this quiet hour of the day, right up against th