t them, they ended by strolling
leisurely side by side past the houses, turning round again every ten
yards or so. A very animated conversation was now taking place. Suddenly
Coupeau appeared to become angry again, whilst the other was refusing
something and required to be pressed. And it was the zinc-worker who
pushed Lantier along and who forced him to cross the street and enter
the shop.

"I tell you, you're quite welcome!" shouted he. "You'll take a glass of
wine. Men are men, you know. We ought to understand each other."

Madame Lerat was finishing the last chorus. The ladies were singing all
together as they twisted their handkerchiefs.

"The child that is lost is the child of God's love."

The singer was greatly complimented and she resumed her seat affecting
to be quite broken down. She asked for something to drink because she
always put too much feeling into that song and she was constantly afraid
of straining her vocal chords. Everyone at the table now had their eyes
fixed on Lantier who, quietly seated beside Coupeau, was devouring the
last piece of Savoy cake which he dipped in his glass of wine. With the
exception of Virginie and Madame Boche none of the guests knew him. The
Lorilleuxs certainly scented some underhand business, but not knowing
what, they merely assumed their most conceited air. Goujet, who had
noticed Gervaise's emotion, gave the newcomer a sour look. As an awkward
pause ensued Coupeau simply said:

"A friend of mine."

And turning to his wife, added:

"Come, stir yourself! Perhaps there's still some hot coffee left."

Gervaise, feeling meek and stupid, looked at them one after the other.
At first, when her husband pushed her old lover into the shop, she
buried her head between her hands, the same as she instinctively did on
stormy days at each clap of thunder. She could not believe it possible;
the walls would fall in and crush them all. Then, when she saw the two
sitting together peacefully, she suddenly accepted it as quite natural.
A happy feeling of languor benumbed her, retained her all in a heap at
the edge of the table, with the sole desire of not being bothered. _Mon
Dieu!_ what is the use of putting oneself out when others do not, and
when things arrange themselves to the satisfaction of everybody? She got
up to see if there was any coffee left.

In the back-room the children had fallen asleep. That squint-eyed
Augustine had tyrannized over them all during the dessert, p