clock there was no Coupeau; at eight o'clock it was still the same.
Gervaise was furious. Her drunkard was certainly squandering his
earnings with his comrades at the dram-shops of the neighborhood. She
had washed a cap and had been slaving since the morning over the holes
of an old dress, wishing to look decent. At last, towards nine o'clock,
her stomach empty, her face purple with rage, she decided to go down and
look for Coupeau.

"Is it your husband you want?" called Madame Boche, on catching sight of
Gervaise looking very glum. "He's at Pere Colombe's. Boche has just been
having some cherry brandy with him."

Gervaise uttered her thanks and stalked stiffly along the pavement with
the determination of flying at Coupeau's eyes. A fine rain was falling
which made the walk more unpleasant still. But when she reached
l'Assommoir, the fear of receiving the drubbing herself if she badgered
her old man suddenly calmed her and made her prudent. The shop was
ablaze with the lighted gas, the flames of which were as brilliant as
suns, and the bottles and jars illuminated the walls with their colored
glass. She stood there an instant stretching her neck, her eyes close to
the window, looking between two bottle placed there for show, watching
Coupeau who was right at the back; he was sitting with some comrades at
a little zinc table, all looking vague and blue in the tobacco smoke;
and, as one could not hear them yelling, it created a funny effect to
see them gesticulating with their chins thrust forward and their eyes
starting out of their heads. Good heavens! Was it really possible that
men could leave their wives and their homes to shut themselves up thus
in a hole where they were choking?

The rain trickled down her neck; she drew herself up and went off to the
exterior Boulevard, wrapped in thought and not daring to enter. Ah! well
Coupeau would have welcomed her in a pleasant way, he who objected to be
spied upon! Besides, it really scarcely seemed to her the proper place
for a respectable woman. Twice she went back and stood before the shop
window, her eyes again riveted to the glass, annoyed at still beholding
those confounded drunkards out of the rain and yelling and drinking. The
light of l'Assommoir was reflected in the puddles on the pavement,
which simmered with little bubbles caused by the downpour. At length
she thought she was too foolish, and pushing open the door, she walked
straight up to the table where Cou