eproach, held his father's portrait before
him, a daub of a painting hidden away at the bottom of a drawer; and,
ever since that lesson, Goujet never drank more than was good for
him, without however, any hatred of wine, for wine is necessary to the
workman. On Sundays he walked out with his mother, who took hold of his
arm. He would generally conduct her to Vincennes; at other times they
would go to the theatre. His mother remained his passion. He still
spoke to her as though he were a little child. Square-headed, his skin
toughened by the wielding of the heavy hammer, he somewhat resembled the
larger animals: dull of intellect, though good-natured all the same.

In the early days of their acquaintance, Gervaise embarrassed him
immensely. Then in a few weeks he became accustomed to her. He watched
for her that he might carry up her parcels, treated her as a sister,
with an abrupt familiarity, and cut out pictures for her. One morning,
however, having opened her door without knocking, he beheld her half
undressed, washing her neck; and, for a week, he did not dare to look
her in the face, so much so that he ended by making her blush herself.

Young Cassis, with the casual wit of a born Parisian, called Golden
Mouth a dolt. It was all right not to get drunk all the time or chase
women, but still, a man must be a man, or else he might as well wear
skirts. Coupeau teased him in front of Gervaise, accusing him of making
up to all the women in the neighborhood. Goujet vigorously defended
himself against the charge.

But this didn't prevent the two workingmen from becoming best of
friends. They went off to work together in the mornings and sometimes
had a glass of beer together on the way home.

It eventually came about that Golden Mouth could render a service to
Young Cassis, one of those favors that is remembered forever.

It was the second of December. The zinc-worker decided, just for the fun
of it, to go into the city and watch the rioting. He didn't really care
about the Republic, or Napoleon or anything like that, but he liked the
smell of gunpowder and the sound of the rifles firing. He would have
been arrested as a rioter if the blacksmith hadn't turned up at the
barricade at just that moment and helped him escape. Goujet was very
serious as they walked back up the Rue du Faubourg Poissonniere. He was
interested in politics and believed in the Republic. But he had never
fired a gun because the common people were