h! I remember it well, my noodle's still solid.
Now it's over, I dream a bit when I'm asleep. I have nightmares, but
everyone has nightmares."

Gervaise remained with him until the evening. When the house surgeon
came, at the six o'clock inspection, he made him spread his hands; they
hardly trembled at all, scarcely a quiver at the tips of the fingers.
However, as night approached, Coupeau was little by little seized with
uneasiness. He twice sat up in bed looking on the ground and in the dark
corners of the room. Suddenly he thrust out an arm and appeared to crush
some vermin against the wall.

"What is it?" asked Gervaise, frightened.

"The rats! The rats!" murmured he.

Then, after a pause, gliding into sleep, he tossed about, uttering
disconnected phrases.

"_Mon Dieu!_ they're tearing my skin!--Oh! the filthy beasts!--Keep
steady! Hold your skirts right round you! beware of the dirty
bloke behind you!--_Mon Dieu!_ she's down and the scoundrels
laugh!--Scoundrels! Blackguards! Brigands!"

He dealt blows into space, caught hold of his blanket and rolled it into
a bundle against his chest, as though to protect the latter from the
violence of the bearded men whom he beheld. Then, an attendant having
hastened to the spot, Gervaise withdrew, quite frozen by the scene.

But when she returned a few days later, she found Coupeau completely
cured. Even the nightmares had left him; he could sleep his ten hours
right off as peacefully as a child and without stirring a limb. So his
wife was allowed to take him away. The house surgeon gave him the usual
good advice on leaving and advised him to follow it. If he recommenced
drinking, he would again collapse and would end by dying. Yes, it solely
depended upon himself. He had seen how jolly and healthy one could
become when one did not get drunk. Well, he must continue at home the
sensible life he had led at Sainte-Anne, fancy himself under lock and
key and that dram-shops no longer existed.

"The gentleman's right," said Gervaise in the omnibus which was taking
them back to the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or.

"Of course he's right," replied Coupeau.

Then, after thinking a minute, he resumed:

"Oh! you know, a little glass now and again can't kill a man; it helps
the digestion."

And that very evening he swallowed a glass of bad spirit, just to keep
his stomach in order. For eight days he was pretty reasonable. He was a
great coward at heart; he had no desire to end his da