, I'll leave you. I guess I can find a man."

The zinc-worker laughed at this. He pretended to make a joke of the
matter, and strengthened her purpose without seeming to do so. That was
a fine idea of hers, and no mistake! In the evening, by gaslight,
she might still hook a man. He recommended her to try the Capuchin
restaurant where one could dine very pleasantly in a small private room.
And, as she went off along the Boulevard, looking pale and furious he
called out to her: "Listen, bring me back some dessert. I like cakes!
And if your gentleman is well dressed, ask him for an old overcoat. I
could use one."

With these words ringing in her ears, Gervaise walked softly away. But
when she found herself alone in the midst of the crowd, she slackened
her pace. She was quite resolute. Between thieving and the other, well
she preferred the other; for at all events she wouldn't harm any one.
No doubt it wasn't proper. But what was proper and what was improper was
sorely muddled together in her brain. When you are dying of hunger, you
don't philosophize, you eat whatever bread turns up. She had gone along
as far as the Chaussee-Clignancourt. It seemed as if the night would
never come. However, she followed the Boulevards like a lady who is
taking a stroll before dinner. The neighborhood in which she felt so
ashamed, so greatly was it being embellished, was now full of fresh air.

Lost in the crowd on the broad footway, walking past the little plane
trees, Gervaise felt alone and abandoned. The vistas of the avenues
seemed to empty her stomach all the more. And to think that among this
flood of people there were many in easy circumstances, and yet not a
Christian who could guess her position, and slip a ten sous piece into
her hand! Yes, it was too great and too beautiful; her head swam and
her legs tottered under this broad expanse of grey sky stretched over
so vast a space. The twilight had the dirty-yellowish tinge of Parisian
evenings, a tint that gives you a longing to die at once, so ugly
does street life seem. The horizon was growing indistinct, assuming a
mud-colored tinge as it were. Gervaise, who was already weary, met all
the workpeople returning home. At this hour of the day the ladies in
bonnets and the well-dressed gentlemen living in the new houses mingled
with the people, with the files of men and women still pale from
inhaling the tainted atmosphere of workshops and workrooms. From the
Boulevard Magenta and