remained calm and cheerful among all these goings-on. She often
stood by the door of her shop greeting friends who passed by with a nod
and a smile. It was her pleasure to take a moment between batches
of ironing to enjoy the street and take pride in her own stretch of
sidewalk.

She felt that the Rue de la Goutte d'Or was hers, and the neighboring
streets, and the whole neighborhood. As she stood there, with her blonde
hair slightly damp from the heat of the shop, she would look left and
right, taking in the people, the buildings, and the sky. To the left
Rue de la Goutte d'Or was peaceful and almost empty, like a country town
with women idling in their doorways. While, to the right, only a short
distance away, Rue des Poissonniers had a noisy throng of people and
vehicles.

The stretch of gutter before her own shop became very important in her
mind. It was like a wide river which she longed to see neat and clean.
It was a lively river, colored by the dye shop with the most fanciful of
hues which contrasted with the black mud beside it.

Then there were the shops: a large grocery with a display of dried
fruits protected by mesh nets; a shop selling work clothes which had
white tunics and blue smocks hanging before it with arms that waved at
the slightest breeze. Cats were purring on the counters of the fruit
store and the tripe shop. Madame Vigouroux, the coal dealer next door,
returned her greetings. She was a plump, short woman with bright eyes
in a dark face who was always joking with the men while standing at her
doorway. Her shop was decorated in imitation of a rustic chalet. The
neighbors on the other side were a mother and daughter, the Cudorges.
The umbrella sellers kept their door closed and never came out to visit.

Gervaise always looked across the road, too, through the wide carriage
entrance of the windowless wall opposite her, at the blacksmith's forge.
The courtyard was cluttered with vans and carts. Inscribed on the wall
was the word "Blacksmith."

At the lower end of the wall between the small shops selling scrap iron
and fried potatoes was a watchmaker. He wore a frock coat and was
always very neat. His cuckoo clocks could be heard in chorus against the
background noise of the street and the blacksmith's rhythmic clanging.

The neighborhood in general thought Gervaise very nice. There was, it is
true, a good deal of scandal related regarding her; but everyone admired
her large eyes, small mouth