n. One could see too that that song was in accordance
with Madame Putois's own feeling. Coupeau then told how Madame Putois,
one evening on Rue Poulet, had slapped the face of four men who sought
to attack her virtue.

With the assistance of mother Coupeau, Gervaise was now serving the
coffee, though some of the guests had not yet finished their Savoy cake.
They would not let her sit down again, but shouted that it was her turn.
With a pale face, and looking very ill at ease, she tried to excuse
herself; she seemed so queer that someone inquired whether the goose
had disagreed with her. She finally gave them "Oh! let me slumber!" in a
sweet and feeble voice. When she reached the chorus with its wish for
a sleep filled with beautiful dreams, her eyelids partly closed and her
rapt gaze lost itself in the darkness of the street.

Poisson stood next and with an abrupt bow to the ladies, sang a drinking
song: "The Wines of France." But his voice wasn't very musical and only
the final verse, a patriotic one mentioning the tricolor flag, was a
success. Then he raised his glass high, juggled it a moment, and poured
the contents into his open mouth.

Then came a string of ballads; Madame Boche's barcarolle was all about
Venice and the gondoliers; Madame Lorilleux sang of Seville and the
Andalusians in her bolero; whilst Lorilleux went so far as to allude to
the perfumes of Arabia, in reference to the loves of Fatima the dancer.

Golden horizons were opening up all around the heavily laden table. The
men were smoking their pipes and the women unconsciously smiling with
pleasure. All were dreaming they were far away.

Clemence began to sing softly "Let's Make a Nest" with a tremolo in
her voice which pleased them greatly for it made them think of the open
country, of songbirds, of dancing beneath an arbor, and of flowers. In
short, it made them think of the Bois de Vincennes when they went there
for a picnic.

But Virginie revived the joking with "My Little Drop of Brandy." She
imitated a camp follower, with one hand on her hip, the elbow arched to
indicate the little barrel; and with the other hand she poured out the
brandy into space by turning her fist round. She did it so well that
the party then begged mother Coupeau to sing "The Mouse." The old woman
refused, vowing that she did not know that naughty song. Yet she started
off with the remnants of her broken voice; and her wrinkled face
with its lively little eyes under