esses carefully to see if they had been stained.

Madame Lerat's fringe looked as though it had been dipped in the
coffee. Madame Fauconnier's chintz dress was spotted with gravy. Mother
Coupeau's green shawl, fallen from off a chair, was discovered in
a corner, rolled up and trodden upon. But it was Madame Lorilleux
especially who became more ill-tempered still. She had a stain on the
back of her dress; it was useless for the others to declare that she
had not--she felt it. And, by twisting herself about in front of a
looking-glass, she ended by catching a glimpse of it.

"What did I say?" cried she. "It's gravy from the fowl. The waiter shall
pay for the dress. I will bring an action against him. Ah! this is a fit
ending to such a day. I should have done better to have stayed in bed.
To begin with, I'm off. I've had enough of their wretched wedding!"

And she left the room in a rage, causing the staircase to shake beneath
her heavy footsteps. Lorilleux ran after her. But all she would consent
to was that she would wait five minutes on the pavement outside, if he
wanted them to go off together. She ought to have left directly after
the storm, as she wished to do. She would make Coupeau sorry for that
day. Coupeau was dismayed when he heard how angry she was. Gervaise
agreed to leave at once to avoid embarrassing him any more.

There was a flurry of quick good-night kisses. Monsieur Madinier was to
escort mother Coupeau home. Madame Boche would take Claude and Etienne
with her for the bridal night. The children were sound asleep on chairs,
stuffed full from the dinner. Just as the bridal couple and Lorilleux
were about to go out the door, a quarrel broke out near the dance floor
between their group and another group. Boche and My-Boots were kissing a
lady and wouldn't give her up to her escorts, two soldiers.

It was scarcely eleven o'clock. On the Boulevard de la Chapelle, and in
the entire neighborhood of the Goutte-d'Or, the fortnight's pay, which
fell due on that Saturday, produced an enormous drunken uproar. Madame
Lorilleux was waiting beneath a gas-lamp about twenty paces from the
Silver Windmill. She took her husband's arm, and walked on in front
without looking round, at such a rate, that Gervaise and Coupeau got
quite out of breath in trying to keep up with them. Now and again they
stepped off the pavement to leave room for some drunkard who had fallen
there. Lorilleux looked back, endeavoring to make thing