. He called to
her from the corridor. Then she in her turn went off, after stammering
a few polite words: she hoped to see them again, and that they would
all agree well together. Both of the Lorilleux had already gone back
to their work at the far end of their dark hole of a work-room. Madame
Lorilleux, her skin reflecting the red glow from the bed of coals, was
drawing on another wire. Each effort swelling her neck and making the
strained muscles stand out like taut cords. Her husband, hunched over
beneath the greenish gleam of the globe was starting another length
of chain, twisting each link with his pliers, pressing it on one side,
inserting it into the next link above, opening it again with the pointed
tool, continuously, mechanically, not wasting a motion, even to wipe the
sweat from his face.

When Gervaise emerged from the corridor on to the landing, she could not
help saying, with tears in her eyes:

"That doesn't promise much happiness."

Coupeau shook his head furiously. He would get even with Lorilleux for
that evening. Had anyone ever seen such a miserly fellow? To think that
they were going to walk off with two or three grains of his gold dust!
All the fuss they made was from pure avarice. His sister thought perhaps
that he would never marry, so as to enable her to economize four sous on
her dinner every day. However, it would take place all the same on July
29. He did not care a hang for them!

Nevertheless, Gervaise still felt depressed. Tormented by a foolish
fearfulness, she peered anxiously into every dark shadow along the
stair-rail as she descended. It was dark and deserted at this hour, lit
only by a single gas jet on the second floor. In the shadowy depths of
the dark pit, it gave a spot of brightness, even with its flamed turned
so low. It was now silent behind the closed doors; the weary laborers
had gone to sleep after eating. However, there was a soft laugh from
Mademoiselle Clemence's room and a ray of light shone through the
keyhole of Mademoiselle Remanjou's door. She was still busy cutting
out dresses for the dolls. Downstairs at Madame Gaudron's, a child was
crying. The sinks on the landings smelled more offensive than ever in
the midst of the darkness and stillness.

In the courtyard, Gervaise turned back for a last look at the tenement
as Coupeau called out to the concierge. The building seemed to have
grown larger under the moonless sky. The drip-drip of water from the
faucet so