out you, you would get the sack. Come, be
off, as you've no respect for principles."

Bazouge moved away, but one could hear him stuttering as he dragged
along the pavement:

"Well! What? Principles! There's no such thing as principles, there's no
such thing as principles--there's only common decency!"

At length ten o'clock struck. The hearse was late. There were already
several people in the shop, friends and neighbors--Monsieur Madinier,
My-Boots, Madame Gaudron, Mademoiselle Remanjou; and every minute, a
man's or a woman's head was thrust out of the gaping opening of the
door between the closed shutters, to see if that creeping hearse was
in sight. The family, all together in the back room, was shaking hands.
Short pauses occurred interrupted by rapid whisperings, a tiresome and
feverish waiting with sudden rushes of skirts--Madame Lorilleux who
had forgotten her handkerchief, or else Madame Lerat who was trying to
borrow a prayer-book. Everyone, on arriving, beheld the open coffin in
the centre of the little room before the bed; and in spite of oneself,
each stood covertly studying it, calculating that plump mother Coupeau
would never fit into it. They all looked at each other with this thought
in their eyes, though without communicating it. But there was a slight
pushing at the front door. Monsieur Madinier, extending his arms, came
and said in a low grave voice:

"Here they are!"

It was not the hearse though. Four helpers entered hastily in single
file, with their red faces, their hands all lumpy like persons in the
habit of moving heavy things, and their rusty black clothes worn and
frayed from constant rubbing against coffins. Old Bazouge walked first,
very drunk and very proper. As soon as he was at work he found his
equilibrium. They did not utter a word, but slightly bowed their heads,
already weighing mother Coupeau with a glance. And they did not dawdle;
the poor old woman was packed in, in the time one takes to sneeze. A
young fellow with a squint, the smallest of the men, poured the bran
into the coffin and spread it out. The tall and thin one spread the
winding sheet over the bran. Then, two at the feet and two at the head,
all four took hold of the body and lifted it. Mother Coupeau was in the
box, but it was a tight fit. She touched on every side.

The undertaker's helpers were now standing up and waiting; the little
one with the squint took the coffin lid, by way of inviting the family
to bid