"Sure, I loved him, but after the disgusting way in which he
left me--"

They were talking of Lantier. Gervaise had not seen him again; she
thought he was living with Virginie's sister at La Glaciere, in the
house of that friend who was going to start a hat factory. She had no
thought of running after him. She had been so distressed at first that
she had thought of drowning herself in the river. But now that she had
thought about it, everything seemed to be for the best. Lantier went
through money so fast, that she probably never could have raised her
children properly. Oh, she'd let him see his children, all right, if he
bothered to come round. But as far as she was concerned, she didn't want
him to touch her, not even with his finger tips.

She told all this to Coupeau just as if her plan of life was well
settled. Meanwhile, Coupeau never forgot his desire to possess her. He
made a jest of everything she said, turning it into ribaldry and asking
some very direct questions about Lantier. But he proceeded so gaily and
which such a smile that she never thought of being offended.

"So, you're the one who beat him," said he at length. "Oh! you're not
kind. You just go around whipping people."

She interrupted him with a hearty laugh. It was true, though, she had
whipped Virginie's tall carcass. She would have delighted in strangling
someone on that day. She laughed louder than ever when Coupeau told her
that Virginie, ashamed at having shown so much cowardice, had left the
neighborhood. Her face, however, preserved an expression of childish
gentleness as she put out her plump hands, insisting she wouldn't even
harm a fly.

She began to tell Coupeau about her childhood at Plassans. She had never
cared overmuch for men; they had always bored her. She was fourteen when
she got involved with Lantier. She had thought it was nice because he
said he was her husband and she had enjoyed playing a housewife. She
was too soft-hearted and too weak. She always got passionately fond of
people who caused her trouble later. When she loved a man, she wasn't
thinking of having fun in the present; she was dreaming about being
happy and living together forever.

And as Coupeau, with a chuckle, spoke of her two children, saying they
hadn't come from under a bolster, she slapped his fingers; she added
that she was, no doubt made on the model of other women; women thought
of their home, slaved to keep the place clean and tidy, and went to