e place. So much the worse if she flew the coop one
of these days; her parents would have to say their _mea culpa_, and own
that they had driven her out themselves.

One Saturday when Nana came home she found her father and her mother
in a lamentable condition. Coupeau, who had fallen across the bed was
snoring. Gervaise, crouching on a chair was swaying her head, with her
eyes vaguely and threateningly staring into vacancy. She had forgotten
to warm the dinner, the remains of a stew. A tallow dip which she
neglected to snuff revealed the shameful misery of their hovel.

"It's you, shrimp?" stammered Gervaise. "Ah, well, your father will take
care of you."

Nana did not answer, but remained pale, looking at the cold stove, the
table on which no plates were laid, the lugubrious hovel which this pair
of drunkards invested with the pale horror of their callousness. She
did not take off her hat but walked round the room; then with her teeth
tightly set, she opened the door and went out.

"You are doing down again?" asked her mother, who was unable even to
turn her head.

"Yes; I've forgotten something. I shall come up again. Good evening."

And she did not return. On the morrow when the Coupeaus were sobered
they fought together, reproaching each other with being the cause
of Nana's flight. Ah! she was far away if she were running still! As
children are told of sparrows, her parents might set a pinch of salt on
her tail, and then perhaps they would catch her. It was a great blow,
and crushed Gervaise, for despite the impairment of her faculties, she
realized perfectly well that her daughter's misconduct lowered her
still more; she was alone now, with no child to think about, able to
let herself sink as low as she could fall. She drank steadily for three
days. Coupeau prowled along the exterior Boulevards without seeing Nana
and then came home to smoke his pipe peacefully. He was always back in
time for his soup.

In this tenement, where girls flew off every month like canaries whose
cages are left open, no one was astonished to hear of the Coupeaus'
mishap. But the Lorilleuxs were triumphant. Ah! they had predicted that
the girl would reward her parents in this fashion. It was deserved; all
artificial flower-girls went that way. The Boches and the Poissons also
sneered with an extraordinary display and outlay of grief. Lantier alone
covertly defended Nana. _Mon Dieu!_ said he, with his puritanical air,
no doubt a gi