en. But she gradually became accustomed to it. Soon it was
too much trouble to scrub herself each time. Her thirst for happiness
led her to enjoy as much as she could the difficult situation. She had
always been disposed to make allowances for herself, so why not for
others? She only wanted to avoid causing trouble. As long as the
household went along as usual, there was nothing to complain about.

Then, after all, she could not be doing anything to make Coupeau stop
drinking; matters were arranged so easily to the general satisfaction.
One is generally punished if one does what is not right. His
dissoluteness had gradually become a habit. Now it was as regular an
affair as eating and drinking. Each time Coupeau came home drunk, she
would go to Lantier's room. This was usually on Mondays, Tuesdays
and Wednesdays. Sometimes on other nights, if Coupeau was snoring too
loudly, she would leave in the middle of the night. It was not that she
cared more for Lantier, but just that she slept better in his room.

Mother Coupeau never dared speak openly of it. But after a quarrel,
when the laundress had bullied her, the old woman was not sparing in her
allusions. She would say that she knew men who were precious fools and
women who were precious hussies, and she would mutter words far
more biting, with the sharpness of language pertaining to an old
waistcoat-maker. The first time this had occurred Gervaise looked at her
straight in the face without answering. Then, also avoiding going into
details, she began to defend herself with reasons given in a general
sort of way. When a woman had a drunkard for a husband, a pig who lived
in filth, that woman was to be excused if she sought for cleanliness
elsewhere. Once she pointed out that Lantier was just as much her
husband as Coupeau was. Hadn't she known him since she was fourteen and
didn't she have children by him?

Anyway, she'd like to see anyone make trouble for her. She wasn't
the only one around the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or. Madame Vigouroux, the
coal-dealer had a merry dance from morning to night. Then there was the
grocer's wife, Madame Lehongre with her brother-in-law. _Mon Dieu!_ What
a slob of a fellow. He wasn't worth touching with a shovel. Even
the neat little clockmaker was said to have carried on with his own
daughter, a streetwalker. Ah, the entire neighborhood. Oh, she knew
plenty of dirt.

One day when mother Coupeau was more pointed than usual in her
observation