covered. For another year the household
jogged along. During the summer months there was naturally a little more
work--the white petticoats and the cambric dresses of the street-walkers
of the exterior Boulevard. The catastrophe was slowly approaching; the
home sank deeper into the mire every week; there were ups and downs,
however--days when one had to rub one's stomach before the empty
cupboard, and others when one ate veal enough to make one burst. Mother
Coupeau was for ever being seen in the street, hiding bundles under
her apron, and strolling in the direction of the pawn-place in the Rue
Polonceau. She strutted along with the air of a devotee going to mass;
for she did not dislike these errands; haggling about money amused her;
this crying up of her wares like a second-hand dealer tickled the old
woman's fancy for driving hard bargains. The clerks knew her well and
called her "Mamma Four Francs," because she always demanded four francs
when they offered three, on bundles no bigger than two sous' worth of
butter.

At the start, Gervaise took advantage of good weeks to get things back
from the pawn-shops, only to put them back again the next week. Later
she let things go altogether, selling her pawn tickets for cash.

One thing alone gave Gervaise a pang--it was having to pawn her clock to
pay an acceptance for twenty francs to a bailiff who came to seize her
goods. Until then, she had sworn rather to die of hunger than to
part with her clock. When mother Coupeau carried it away in a little
bonnet-box, she sunk on to a chair, without a particle of strength left
in her arms, her eyes full of tears, as though a fortune was being torn
from her. But when mother Coupeau reappeared with twenty-five francs,
the unexpected loan, the five francs profit consoled her; she at once
sent the old woman out again for four sous' worth of brandy in a glass,
just to toast the five-franc piece.

The two of them would often have a drop together, when they were on good
terms with each other. Mother Coupeau was very successful at bringing
back a full glass hidden in her apron pocket without spilling a drop.
Well, the neighbors didn't need to know, did they. But the neighbors
knew perfectly well. This turned the neighborhood even more against
Gervaise. She was devouring everything; a few more mouthfuls and the
place would be swept clean.

In the midst of this general demolishment, Coupeau continued to prosper.
The confounded tippler w