bed for
a minute, just to obviate any unpleasant effects. Thus the party
had seemed to melt away, some disappearing behind the others, all
accompanying one another, and being lost sight of in the surrounding
darkness, to the accompaniment of a final uproar, a furious quarrel
between the Lorilleuxs, and an obstinate and mournful "trou la la, trou
la la," of old Bru's. Gervaise had an idea that Goujet had burst out
sobbing when bidding her good-bye; Coupeau was still singing; and as
for Lantier, he must have remained till the end. At one moment even, she
could still feel a breath against her hair, but she was unable to say
whether it came from Lantier or if it was the warm night air.

Since Madame Lerat didn't want to return to Les Batignolles at such a
late hour, they took one of the mattresses off the bed and spread it
for her in a corner of the shop, after pushing back the table. She
slept right there amid all the dinner crumbs. All night long, while
the Coupeaus were sleeping, a neighbor's cat took advantage of an open
window and was crunching the bones of the goose with its sharp teeth,
giving the bird its final resting place.

CHAPTER VIII

On the following Saturday Coupeau, who had not come home to dinner,
brought Lantier with him towards ten o'clock. They had had some sheep's
trotters at Chez Thomas at Montmartre.

"You mustn't scold, wife," said the zinc-worker. "We're sober, as you
can see. Oh! there's no fear with him; he keeps one on the straight
road."

And he related how they happened to meet in the Rue Rochechouart. After
dinner Lantier had declined to have a drink at the "Black Ball," saying
that when one was married to a pretty and worthy little woman, one ought
not to go liquoring-up at all the wineshops. Gervaise smiled slightly
as she listened. Oh! she was not thinking of scolding, she felt too much
embarrassed for that. She had been expecting to see her former lover
again some day ever since their dinner party; but at such an hour, when
she was about to go to bed, the unexpected arrival of the two men had
startled her. Her hands were quivering as she pinned back the hair which
had slid down her neck.

"You know," resumed Coupeau, "as he was so polite as to decline a drink
outside, you must treat us to one here. Ah! you certainly owe us that!"

The workwomen had left long ago. Mother Coupeau and Nana had just gone
to bed. Gervaise, who had been just about to put up the shutters when
they a