bed
too tired at night not to go to sleep at once. Besides, she resembled
her mother, a stout laboring woman who died at her work and who had
served as beast of burden to old Macquart for more than twenty years.
Her mother's shoulders had been heavy enough to smash through doors, but
that didn't prevent her from being soft-hearted and madly attracted to
people. And if she limped a little, she no doubt owed that to the poor
woman, whom old Macquart used to belabor with blows. Her mother had told
her about the times when Macquart came home drunk and brutally bruised
her. She had probably been born with her lame leg as a result of one of
those times.

"Oh! it's scarcely anything, it's hardly perceptible," said Coupeau
gallantly.

She shook her head; she knew well enough that it could be seen; at
forty she would look broken in two. Then she added gently, with a slight
laugh: "It's a funny fancy of yours to fall in love with a cripple."

With his elbows still on the table, he thrust his face closer to hers
and began complimenting her in rather dubious language as though to
intoxicate her with his words. But she kept shaking her head "no," and
didn't allow herself to be tempted although she was flattered by the
tone of his voice. While listening, she kept looking out the window,
seeming to be fascinated by the interesting crowd of people passing.

The shops were now almost empty. The grocer removed his last panful
of fried potatoes from the stove. The sausage man arranged the dishes
scattered on his counter. Great bearded workmen were as playful as
young boys, clumping along in their hobnailed boots. Other workmen were
smoking, staring up into the sky and blinking their eyes. Factory bells
began to ring in the distance, but the workers, in no hurry, relit their
pipes. Later, after being tempted by one wineshop after another, they
finally decided to return to their jobs, but were still dragging their
feet.

Gervaise amused herself by watching three workmen, a tall fellow and
two short ones who turned to look back every few yards; they ended by
descending the street, and came straight to Pere Colombe's l'Assommoir.

"Ah, well," murmured she, "there're three fellows who don't seem
inclined for work!"

"Why!" said Coupeau, "I know the tall one, it's My-Boots, a comrade of
mine."

Pere Colombe's l'Assommoir was now full. You had to shout to be heard.
Fists often pounded on the bar, causing the glasses to clink. Everyone