k against the friendly blows. Meanwhile Gervaise was hugging and
kissing mother Coupeau, her eyes moist, a smile lighting her face. She
replied reassuringly to the old woman's sobbing: "Don't worry, I'll do
my best. I want so much to have a happy life. If it doesn't work out
it won't be my fault. Anyhow, it's done now. It's up to us to get along
together and do the best we can for each other."

After that they went straight to the Silver Windmill. Coupeau had taken
his wife's arm. They walked quickly, laughing as though carried away,
quite two hundred steps ahead of the others, without noticing the houses
or the passers-by, or the vehicles. The deafening noises of the faubourg
sounded like bells in their ears. When they reached the wineshop,
Coupeau at once ordered two bottles of wine, some bread and some slices
of ham, to be served in the little glazed closet on the ground floor,
without plates or table cloth, simply to have a snack. Then, noticing
that Boche and Bibi-the-Smoker seemed to be very hungry, he had a third
bottle brought, as well as a slab of brie cheese. Mother Coupeau was not
hungry, being too choked up to be able to eat. Gervaise found herself
very thirsty, and drank several large glasses of water with a small
amount of wine added.

"I'll settle for this," said Coupeau, going at once to the bar, where he
paid four francs and five sous.

It was now one o'clock and the other guests began to arrive. Madame
Fauconnier, a fat woman, still good looking, first put in an appearance;
she wore a chintz dress with a flowery pattern, a pink tie and a cap
over-trimmed with flowers. Next came Mademoiselle Remanjou, looking very
thin in the eternal black dress which she seemed to keep on even when
she went to bed; and the two Gaudrons--the husband, like some heavy
animal and almost bursting his brown jacket at the slightest movement,
the wife, an enormous woman, whose figure indicated evident signs of an
approaching maternity and whose stiff violet colored skirt still more
increased her rotundity. Coupeau explained that they were not to
wait for My-Boots; his comrade would join the party on the Route de
Saint-Denis.

"Well!" exclaimed Madame Lerat as she entered, "it'll pour in torrents
soon! That'll be pleasant!"

And she called everyone to the door of the wineshop to see the clouds
as black as ink which were rising rapidly to the south of Paris. Madame
Lerat, eldest of the Coupeaus, was a tall, gaunt woman who