he had kissed her with
so much respect, he fell back across his bed with sobs rising in his
throat. And Gervaise could not remain there any longer. It was too
sad and too abominable to meet again under such circumstances when one
loved. "I love you, Monsieur Goujet," she exclaimed. "I love you dearly,
also. Oh! it isn't possible you still love me. Good-bye, good-bye; it
would smother us both; it would be more than we could stand."

And she darted through Madame Goujet's room and found herself outside
on the pavement again. When she recovered her senses she had rung at the
door in the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or and Boche was pulling the string. The
house was quite dark, and in the black night the yawning, dilapidated
porch looked like an open mouth. To think that she had been ambitious
of having a corner in this barracks! Had her ears been stopped up then,
that she had not heard the cursed music of despair which sounded behind
the walls? Since she had set foot in the place she had begun to go
down hill. Yes, it must bring bad luck to shut oneself up in these big
workmen's houses; the cholera of misery was contagious there. That night
everyone seemed to have kicked the bucket. She only heard the Boches
snoring on the right-hand side, while Lantier and Virginie on the left
were purring like a couple of cats who were not asleep, but have their
eyes closed and feel warm. In the courtyard she fancied she was in
a perfect cemetery; the snow paved the ground with white; the high
frontages, livid grey in tint, rose up unlighted like ruined walls, and
not a sigh could be heard. It seemed as if a whole village, stiffened
with cold and hunger, were buried here. She had to step over a black
gutter--water from the dye-works--which smoked and streaked the
whiteness of the snow with its muddy course. It was the color of her
thoughts. The beautiful light blue and light pink waters had long since
flowed away.

Then, whilst ascending the six flights of stairs in the dark, she could
not prevent herself from laughing; an ugly laugh which hurt her. She
recalled her ideal of former days: to work quietly, always have bread
to eat and a tidy house to sleep in, to bring up her children, not to
be beaten and to die in her bed. No, really, it was comical how all
that was becoming realized! She no longer worked, she no longer ate, she
slept on filth, her husband frequented all sorts of wineshops, and her
husband drubbed her at all hours of the day; all