ears. The cold is something awful!"

"Why, it's Madame Poisson!" exclaimed Gervaise. "Ah, well! You've come
at the right time. You must have some coffee with us."

"On my word, I can't say no. One feels the frost in one's bones merely
by crossing the street."

There was still some coffee left, luckily. Mother Coupeau went and
fetched a sixth glass, and Gervaise let Virginie help herself to sugar
out of politeness. The workwomen moved to give Virginie a small space
close to the stove. Her nose was very red, she shivered a bit, pressing
her hands which were stiff with cold around the glass to warm them. She
had just come from the grocery story where you froze to death waiting
for a quarter-pound of cheese and so she raved about the warmth of the
shop. It felt so good on one's skin. After warming up, she stretched out
her long legs and the six of them relaxed together, supping their coffee
slowly, surround by all the work still to be done. Mother Coupeau and
Virginie were the only ones on chairs, the others, on low benches,
seemed to be sitting on the floor. Squint-eyed Augustine had pulled over
a corner of the cloth below the skirt, stretching herself out on it.

No one spoke at first; all kept their noses in their glasses, enjoying
their coffee.

"It's not bad, all the same," declared Clemence.

But she was seized with a fit of coughing, and almost choked. She leant
her head against the wall to cough with more force.

"That's a bad cough you've got," said Virginie. "Wherever did you catch
it?"

"One never knows!" replied Clemence, wiping her face with her sleeve.
"It must have been the other night. There were two girls who were
flaying each other outside the 'Grand-Balcony.' I wanted to see, so I
stood there whilst the snow was falling. Ah, what a drubbing! It was
enough to make one die with laughing. One had her nose almost pulled
off; the blood streamed on the ground. When the other, a great long
stick like me, saw the blood, she slipped away as quick as she could.
And I coughed nearly all night. Besides that too, men are so stupid in
bed, they don't let you have any covers over you half the time."

"Pretty conduct that," murmured Madame Putois. "You're killing yourself,
my girl."

"And if it pleases me to kill myself! Life isn't so very amusing.
Slaving all the blessed day long to earn fifty-five sous, cooking one's
blood from morning to night in front of the stove; no, you know, I've
had enough of it! Al