k?"

"Yes, sir; just a little like everyone. He killed himself by falling
from a roof one day when he was tipsy."

"Did his mother drink?"

"Well! sir, like everyone else, you know; a drop here, a drop there. Oh!
the family is very respectable! There was a brother who died very young
in convulsions."

The doctor looked at her with his piercing eye. He resumed in his rough
voice:

"And you, you drink too, don't you?"

Gervaise stammered, protested, and placed her hand upon her heart, as
though to take her solemn oath.

"You drink! Take care; see where drink leads to. One day or other you
will die thus."

Then she remained close to the wall. The doctor had turned his back
to her. He squatted down, without troubling himself as to whether his
overcoat trailed in the dust of the matting; for a long while he studied
Coupeau's trembling, waiting for its reappearance, following it with his
glance. That day the legs were going in their turn, the trembling had
descended from the hands to the feet; a regular puppet with his strings
being pulled, throwing his limbs about, whilst the trunk of his body
remained as stiff as a piece of wood. The disease progressed little by
little. It was like a musical box beneath the skin; it started off every
three or four seconds and rolled along for an instant; then it stopped
and then it started off again, just the same as the little shiver which
shakes stray dogs in winter, when cold and standing in some doorway for
protection. Already the middle of the body and the shoulders quivered
like water on the point of boiling. It was a funny demolition all the
same, going off wriggling like a girl being tickled.

Coupeau, meanwhile, was complaining in a hollow voice. He seemed
to suffer a great deal more than the day before. His broken murmurs
disclosed all sorts of ailments. Thousands of pins were pricking him.
He felt something heavy all about his body; some cold, wet animal was
crawling over his thighs and digging its fangs into his flesh. Then
there were other animals sticking to his shoulders, tearing his back
with their claws.

"I'm thirsty, oh! I'm thirsty!" groaned he continually.

The house surgeon handed him a little lemonade from a small shelf;
Coupeau seized the mug in both hands and greedily took a mouthful,
spilling half the liquid over himself; but he spat it out at once with
furious disgust, exclaiming:

"Damnation! It's brandy!"

Then, on a sign from the doctor, the h