giving any further
answer to her question: "Look out, pest--take care; you'll be carrying
some scraps of gold away on the soles of your shoes. One would think you
had greased them on purpose to make the gold stick to them."

Gervaise slowly drew back. For a moment she leant against a rack, and
seeing that Madame Lorilleux was looking at her hands, she opened them
and showed them, saying softly, without the least anger, like a fallen
women who accepts anything:

"I have taken nothing; you can look."

And then she went off, because the strong smell of the cabbage soup and
the warmth of the workroom made her feel too ill.

Ah! the Lorilleuxs did not detain her. Good riddance; just see if they
opened the door to her again. They had seen enough of her face. They
didn't want other people's misery in their rooms, especially when that
misery was so well deserved. They reveled in their selfish delight at
being seated so cozily in a warm room, with a dainty soup cooking. Boche
also stretched himself, puffing with his cheeks still more and more,
so much, indeed, that his laugh really became indecent. They were all
nicely revenged on Clump-clump, for her former manners, her blue shop,
her spreads, and all the rest. It had all worked out just as it should,
proving where a love of showing-off would get you.

"So that is the style now? Begging for ten sous," cried Madame Lorilleux
as soon as Gervaise had gone. "Wait a bit; I'll lend her ten sous, and
no mistake, to go and get drunk with."

Gervaise shuffled along the passage in her slippers, bending her back
and feeling heavy. On reaching her door she did not open it--her room
frightened her. It would be better to walk about, she would learn
patience. As she passed by she stretched out her neck, peering into Pere
Bru's kennel under the stairs. There, for instance, was another one who
must have a fine appetite, for he had breakfasted and dined by heart
during the last three days. However, he wasn't at home, there was only
his hole, and Gervaise felt somewhat jealous, thinking that perhaps he
had been invited somewhere. Then, as she reached the Bijards' she heard
Lalie moaning, and, as the key was in the lock as usual, she opened the
door and went in.

"What is the matter?" she asked.

The room was very clean. One could see that Lalie had carefully swept
it, and arranged everything during the morning. Misery might blow into
the room as much as it liked, carry off the chattels a