ato
parings. Then a procession was formed. Nana came first dragging the
wooden shoe. Pauline and Victor walked on her right and left. Then
the entire crowd of urchins followed in order, the big ones first, the
little ones next, jostling one another; a baby in long skirts about as
tall as a boot with an old tattered bonnet cocked on one side of its
head, brought up the rear. And the procession chanted something sad with
plenty of ohs! and ahs! Nana had said that they were going to play at a
funeral; the potato parings represented the body. When they had gone
the round of the courtyard, they recommenced. They thought it immensely
amusing.

"What can they be up to?" murmured Madame Boche, who emerged from her
room to see, ever mistrustful and on the alert.

And when she understood: "But it's my shoe!" cried she furiously. "Ah,
the rogues!"

She distributed some smacks, clouted Nana on both cheeks and
administered a kick to Pauline, that great goose who allowed the others
to steal her mother's shoe. It so happened that Gervaise was filling a
bucket at the top. When she beheld Nana, her nose bleeding and choking
with sobs, she almost sprang at the concierge's chignon. It was not
right to hit a child as though it were an ox. One could have no heart,
one must be the lowest of the low if one did so. Madame Boche naturally
replied in a similar strain. When one had a beast of a girl like that
one should keep her locked up. At length Boche himself appeared in
the doorway to call his wife to come in and not to enter into so many
explanations with a filthy thing like her. There was a regular quarrel.

As a matter of fact things had not gone on very pleasantly between the
Boches and the Coupeaus for a month past. Gervaise, who was of a very
generous nature, was continually bestowing wine, broth, oranges and
slices of cake on the Boches. One night she had taken the remains of
an endive and beetroot salad to the concierge's room, knowing that the
latter would have done anything for such a treat. But on the morrow she
became quite pale with rage on hearing Mademoiselle Remanjou relate
how Madame Boche had thrown the salad away in the presence of several
persons with an air of disgust and under the pretext that she, thank
goodness, was not yet reduced to feeding on things which others had
messed about. From that time Gervaise took no more presents to the
Boches--nothing. Now the Boches seemed to think that Gervaise was
stealing some