illeux, after
giving a hasty glance round the death chamber, suddenly raised her voice
to say that it was unheard of, that one never left a lighted lamp beside
a corpse; there should be a candle, and Nana was sent to purchase a
packet of tall ones. Ah, well! It made one long to die at Clump-clump's,
she laid one out in such a fine fashion! What a fool, not even to know
what to do with a corpse! Had she then never buried anyone in her life?
Madame Lerat had to go to the neighbors and borrow a crucifix; she
brought one back which was too big, a cross of black wood with a Christ
in painted cardboard fastened to it, which covered the whole of mother
Coupeau's chest, and seemed to crush her under its weight. Then they
tried to obtain some holy water, but no one had any, and it was again
Nana who was sent to the church to bring some back in a bottle. In
practically no time the tiny room presented quite another appearance;
on a little table a candle was burning beside a glass full of holy water
into which a sprig of boxwood was dipped. Now, if anyone came, it would
at least look decent. And they arranged the chairs in a circle in the
shop for receiving people.

Lantier only returned at eleven o'clock. He had been to the undertaker's
for information.

"The coffin is twelve francs," said he. "If you desire a mass, it
will be ten francs more. Then there's the hearse, which is charged for
according to the ornaments."

"Oh! it's quite unnecessary to be fancy," murmured Madame Lorilleux,
raising her head in a surprised and anxious manner. "We can't bring
mamma to life again, can we? One must do according to one's means."

"Of course, that's just what I think," resumed the hatter. "I merely
asked the prices to guide you. Tell me what you desire; and after lunch
I will give the orders."

They were talking in lowered voices. Only a dim light came into the room
through the cracks in the shutters. The door to the little room stood
half open, and from it came the deep silence of death. Children's
laughter echoed in the courtyard. Suddenly they heard the voice of
Nana, who had escaped from the Boches to whom she had been sent. She was
giving commands in her shrill voice and the children were singing a song
about a donkey.

Gervaise waited until it was quiet to say:

"We're not rich certainly; but all the same we wish to act decently. If
mother Coupeau has left us nothing, it's no reason for pitching her into
the ground like a dog.