hrill laugh that resembled a pulley in want
of grease. Clemence, leaning heavily over the ironing-table, her wrists
bent in, her elbows sticking out and wide apart was bending her neck in
a last effort; and all her muscles swelled, her shoulders rose with
the slow play of the muscles beating beneath the soft skin, her breasts
heaved, wet with perspiration in the rosy shadow of the half open
chemise. Then Coupeau thrust out his hands, trying to touch her bare
flesh.

"Madame! Madame!" cried Clemence, "do make him leave off! I shall go
away if it continues. I won't be intimated."

Gervaise glanced over just as her husband's hands began to explore
inside the chemise.

"Really, Coupeau, you're too foolish," said she, with a vexed air, as
though she were scolding a child who persisted in eating his jam without
bread. "You must go to bed."

"Yes, go to bed, Monsieur Coupeau; it will be far better," exclaimed
Madame Putois.

"Ah! Well," stuttered he, without ceasing to chuckle, "you're all
precious particular! So one mustn't amuse oneself now? Women, I know how
to handle them; I'll only kiss them, no more. One admires a lady, you
know, and wants to show it. And, besides, when one displays one's goods,
it's that one may make one's choice, isn't it? Why does the tall blonde
show everything she's got? It's not decent."

And turning towards Clemence, he added: "You know, my lovely, you're
wrong to be to very insolent. If it's because there are others here--"

But he was unable to continue. Gervaise very calmly seized hold of him
with one hand, and placed the other on his mouth. He struggled, just by
way of a joke, whilst she pushed him to the back of the shop, towards
the bedroom. He got his mouth free and said that he was willing to go to
bed, but that the tall blonde must come and warm his feet.

Then Gervaise could be heard taking off his shoes. She removed his
clothes too, bullying him in a motherly way. He burst out laughing after
she had removed his trousers and kicked about, pretending that she was
tickling him. At last she tucked him in carefully like a child. Was he
comfortable now? But he did not answer; he called to Clemence:

"I say, my lovely, I'm here, and waiting for you!"

When Gervaise went back into the shop, the squint-eyed Augustine was
being properly chastised by Clemence because of a dirty iron that Madame
Putois had used and which had caused her to soil a camisole. Clemence,
in defending herself