ght they
were wetting their whistles. Fat Pere Colombe was calmly serving round
after round.

The atmosphere was very warm, the smoke from the pipes ascended in
the blinding glare of the gas, amidst which it rolled about like dust,
drowning the customers in a gradually thickening mist; and from this
cloud there issued a deafening and confused uproar, cracked voices,
clinking of glasses, oaths and blows sounding like detonations. So
Gervaise pulled a very wry face, for such a sight is not funny for a
woman, especially when she is not used to it; she was stifling, with a
smarting sensation in her eyes, and her head already feeling heavy
from the alcoholic fumes exhaled by the whole place. Then she suddenly
experienced the sensation of something more unpleasant still behind
her back. She turned round and beheld the still, the machine which
manufactured drunkards, working away beneath the glass roof of the
narrow courtyard with the profound trepidation of its hellish cookery.
Of an evening, the copper parts looked more mournful than ever, lit up
only on their rounded surface with one big red glint; and the shadow of
the apparatus on the wall at the back formed most abominable figures,
bodies with tails, monsters opening their jaws as though to swallow
everyone up.

"Listen, mother Talk-too-much, don't make any of your grimaces!" cried
Coupeau. "To blazes, you know, with all wet blankets! What'll you
drink?"

"Nothing, of course," replied the laundress. "I haven't dined yet."

"Well! that's all the more reason for having a glass; a drop of
something sustains one."

But, as she still retained her glum expression, My-Boots again did the
gallant.

"Madame probably likes sweet things," murmured he.

"I like men who don't get drunk," retorted she, getting angry. "Yes, I
like a fellow who brings home his earnings, and who keeps his word when
he makes a promise."

"Ah! so that's what upsets you?" said the zinc-worker, without ceasing
to chuckle. "Yes, you want your share. Then, big goose, why do you
refuse a drink? Take it, it's so much to the good."

She looked at him fixedly, in a grave manner, a wrinkle marking her
forehead with a black line. And she slowly replied:

"Why, you're right, it's a good idea. That way, we can drink up the coin
together."

Bibi-the-Smoker rose from his seat to fetch her a glass of anisette. She
drew her chair up to the table. Whilst she was sipping her anisette, a
recollection suddenly