with yellow palms, and a
white cap trimmed with a little cheap lace. During the six weeks she had
been working, she had saved the seven francs for the shawl, and the two
and a half francs for the cap; the dress was an old one cleaned and made
up afresh.

"They're expecting you," said Coupeau to her, as they went round by the
Rue des Poissonniers. "Oh! they're beginning to get used to the idea
of my being married. They seem nice indeed, to-night. And you know if
you've never seen gold chains made, it'll amuse you to watch them. They
just happen to have a pressing order for Monday."

"They've got gold in their room?" asked Gervaise.

"I should think so; there's some on the walls, on the floor, in fact
everywhere."

They had passed the arched doorway and crossed the courtyard. The
Lorilleuxs lived on the sixth floor, staircase B. Coupeau laughingly
told her to hold the hand-rail tight and not to leave go of it. She
looked up, and blinked her eyes, as she perceived the tall hollow
tower of the staircase, lighted by three gas jets, one on every second
landing; the last one, right up at the top looked like a star twinkling
in a black sky, whilst the other two cast long flashes of light, of
fantastic shapes, among the interminable windings of the stairs.

"By Jove!" said the zinc-worker as he reached the first floor, smiling,
"there's a strong smell of onion soup. Someone's having onion soup, I'm
sure."

Staircase B, with its gray, dirty steps and hand-rail, its scratched
walls and chipped plaster, was full of strong kitchen odors. Long
corridors, echoing with noise, led away from each landing. Doors,
painted yellow, gaped open, smeared black around the latch from dirty
hands. A sink on each landing gave forth a fetid humidity, adding its
stench to the sharp flavor of the cooking of onions. From the basement,
all the way to the sixth floor, you could hear dishes clattering,
saucepans being rinsed, pots being scraped and scoured.

On the first floor Gervaise saw a half-opened door with the word
"Designer" written on it in large letters. Inside were two men sitting
by a table, the dishes cleared away from its oilcloth cover, arguing
furiously amid a cloud of pipe smoke. The second and third floors were
quieter, and through cracks in the woodwork only such sounds filtered as
the rhythm of a cradle rocking, the stifled crying of a child, a woman's
voice sounding like the dull murmur of running water with no words
distinc