ds in a reassured way,
and they replaced their glasses on the table.

When the Poissons left for home, Lantier left also, saying he would
sleep with a friend and leave his bed for the ladies in case they wanted
to take turns napping. Lorilleux went upstairs to bed. Gervaise and the
two sisters arranged themselves by the stove where they huddled together
close to the warmth, talking quietly. Coupeau was still snoring.

Madame Lorilleux was complaining that she didn't have a black dress and
asked Gervaise about the black skirt they had given mother Coupeau on
her saint's day. Gervaise went to look for it. Madame Lorilleux then
wanted some of the old linen and mentioned the bed, the wardrobe, and
the two chairs as she looked around for other odds and ends. Madame
Lerat had to serve as peace maker when a quarrel nearly broke out.
She pointed out that as the Coupeaus had cared for their mother, they
deserved to keep the few things she had left. Soon they were all dozing
around the stove.

The night seemed terribly long to them. Now and again they shook
themselves, drank some coffee and stretched their necks in the direction
of the little room, where the candle, which was not to be snuffed, was
burning with a dull red flame, flickering the more because of the black
soot on the wick. Towards morning, they shivered, in spite of the great
heat of the stove. Anguish, and the fatigue of having talked too much
was stifling them, whilst their mouths were parched, and their eyes
ached. Madame Lerat threw herself on Lantier's bed, and snored as loud
as a man; whilst the other two, their heads falling forward, and almost
touching their knees, slept before the fire. At daybreak, a shudder
awoke them. Mother Coupeau's candle had again gone out; and as, in the
obscurity, the dull trickling sound recommenced, Madame Lorilleux gave
the explanation of it anew in a loud voice, so as to reassure herself:

"She's emptying," repeated she, lighting another candle.

The funeral was to take place at half-past ten. A nice morning to add to
the night and the day before! Gervaise, though without a sou, said she
would have given a hundred francs to anybody who would have come and
taken mother Coupeau away three hours sooner. No, one may love people,
but they are too great a weight when they are dead; and the more one has
loved them, the sooner one would like to be rid of their bodies.

The morning of a funeral is, fortunately, full of diversions.