grocery clerks, the tripe woman and the fruit woman all knew the
song and joined in the chorus. The entire street seemed to be getting
drunk on the odors from the Coupeau party. In the reddish haze from the
two lamps, the noise of the party was enough to shut out the rumbling
of the last vehicles in the street. Two policemen rushed over, thinking
there was a riot, but on recognizing Poisson, they saluted him smartly
and went away between the darkened buildings.

Coupeau was now singing this verse:

"On Sundays at Petite Villette,
Whene'er the weather's fine,
We call on uncle, old Tinette,
Who's in the dustman line.
To feast upon some cherry stones
The young un's almost wild,
And rolls amongst the dust and bones,
What a piggish child!
What a piggish child!"

Then the house almost collapsed, such a yell ascended in the calm warm
night air that the shouters applauded themselves, for it was useless
their hoping to be able to bawl any louder.

Not one of the party could ever recollect exactly how the carouse
terminated. It must have been very late, it's quite certain, for not
a cat was to be seen in the street. Possibly too, they had all joined
hands and danced round the table. But all was submerged in a yellow
mist, in which red faces were jumping about, with mouths slit from ear
to ear. They had probably treated themselves to something stronger than
wine towards the end, and there was a vague suspicion that some one had
played them the trick of putting salt into the glasses. The children
must have undressed and put themselves to bed. On the morrow, Madame
Boche boasted of having treated Boche to a couple of clouts in a corner,
where he was conversing a great deal too close to the charcoal-dealer;
but Boche, who recollected nothing, said she must have dreamt it.
Everyone agreed that it wasn't very decent the way Clemence had carried
on. She had ended by showing everything she had and then been so sick
that she had completely ruined one of the muslin curtains. The men
had at least the decency to go into the street; Lorilleux and Poisson,
feeling their stomachs upset, had stumblingly glided as far as the
pork-butcher's shop. It is easy to see when a person has been well
brought up. For instance, the ladies, Madame Putois, Madame Lerat, and
Virginie, indisposed by the heat, had simply gone into the back-room and
taken their stays off; Virginie had even desired to lie on the