he least, for they no
longer even heard him. At the end of a quarter of an hour she would
begin to feel slightly oppressed; the heat, the powerful smell, the
ascending smoke, made her dizzy, whilst the dull thuds of the hammers
shook her from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet. Then she
desired nothing more; it was her pleasure. Had Goujet pressed her in his
arms it would not have procured her so sweet an emotion. She drew close
to him that she might feel the wind raised by his hammer beat upon her
cheek, and become, as it were, a part of the blow he struck. When the
sparks made her soft hands smart, she did not withdraw them; on the
contrary, she enjoyed the rain of fire which stung her skin. He for
certain, divined the happiness which she tasted there; he always kept
the most difficult work for the Fridays, so as to pay his court to her
with all his strength and all his skill; he no longer spared himself
at the risk of splitting the anvils in two, as he panted and his loins
vibrated with the joy he was procuring her. All one spring-time their
love thus filled Goujet with the rumbling of a storm. It was an idyll
amongst giant-like labor in the midst of the glare of the coal fire, and
of the shaking of the shed, the cracking carcass of which was black with
soot. All that beaten iron, kneaded like red wax, preserved the rough
marks of their love. When on the Fridays the laundress parted from
Golden-Mug, she slowly reascended the Rue des Poissonniers, contented
and tired, her mind and her body alike tranquil.

Little by little, her fear of Lantier diminished; her good sense got the
better of her. At that time she would still have led a happy life, had
it not been for Coupeau, who was decidedly going to the bad. One day
she just happened to be returning from the forge, when she fancied she
recognized Coupeau inside Pere Colombe's l'Assommoir, in the act of
treating himself to a round of vitriol in the company of My-Boots,
Bibi-the-Smoker, and Salted-Mouth, otherwise Drink-without-Thirst.
She passed quickly by, so as not to seem to be spying on them. But she
glanced back; it was indeed Coupeau who was tossing his little glass
of bad brandy down his throat with a gesture already familiar. He lied
then; so he went in for brandy now! She returned home in despair; all
her old dread of brandy took possession of her. She forgave the
wine, because wine nourishes the workman; all kinds of spirit, on the
contrary, were f