ppeared, left the shop open and brought some glasses which she
placed on a corner of the work-table with what was left of a bottle of
brandy.

Lantier remained standing and avoided speaking directly to her. However,
when she served him, he exclaimed:

"Only a thimbleful, madame, if you please."

Coupeau looked at them and then spoke his mind very plainly. They were
not going to behave like a couple of geese he hoped! The past was past
was it not? If people nursed grudges for nine and ten years together one
would end by no longer seeing anybody. No, no, he carried his heart
in his hand, he did! First of all, he knew who he had to deal with, a
worthy woman and a worthy man--in short two friends! He felt easy; he
knew he could depend upon them.

"Oh! that's certain, quite certain," repeated Gervaise, looking on the
ground and scarcely understanding what she said.

"She is a sister now--nothing but a sister!" murmured Lantier in his
turn.

"_Mon Dieu!_ shake hands," cried Coupeau, "and let those who don't like
it go to blazes! When one has proper feelings one is better off than
millionaires. For myself I prefer friendship before everything because
friendship is friendship and there's nothing to beat it."

He dealt himself heavy blows on the chest, and seemed so moved that
they had to calm him. They all three silently clinked glasses, and drank
their drop of brandy. Gervaise was then able to look at Lantier at her
ease; for on the night of her saint's day, she had only seen him through
a fog. He had grown more stout, his arms and legs seeming too heavy
because of his small stature. His face was still handsome even though it
was a little puffy now due to his life of idleness. He still took great
pains with his narrow moustache. He looked about his actual age. He was
wearing grey trousers, a heavy blue overcoat, and a round hat. He
even had a watch with a silver chain on which a ring was hanging as a
keepsake. He looked quite like a gentleman.

"I'm off," said he. "I live no end of a distance from here."

He was already on the pavement when the zinc-worker called him back to
make him promise never to pass the door without looking in to wish them
good day. Meanwhile Gervaise, who had quietly disappeared, returned
pushing Etienne before her. The child, who was in his shirt-sleeves and
half asleep, smiled as he rubbed his eyes. But when he beheld Lantier
he stood trembling and embarrassed, and casting anxious glances in