It knew him. It was the
street that was afraid, not he. As he kept his pipe in his mouth, he
turned round every now and then to spit onto the pavement.

"Look, there's Madame Boche," he suddenly exclaimed and called down to
her. "Hi! Madame Boche."

He had just caught sight of the concierge crossing the road. She raised
her head and recognised him, and a conversation ensured between them.
She hid her hands under her apron, her nose elevated in the air. He,
standing up now, his left arm passed round a chimney-pot, leant over.

"Have you seen my wife?" asked he.

"No, I haven't," replied the concierge. "Is she around here?"

"She's coming to fetch me. And are they all well at home?"

"Why, yes, thanks; I'm the most ill, as you see. I'm going to the
Chaussee Clignancourt to buy a small leg of mutton. The butcher near the
Moulin-Rouge only charges sixteen sous."

They raised their voices, because a vehicle was passing. In the wide,
deserted Rue de la Nation, their words, shouted out with all their
might, had only caused a little old woman to come to her window; and
this little old woman remained there leaning out, giving herself the
treat of a grand emotion by watching that man on the roof over the way,
as though she expected to see him fall, from one minute to another.

"Well! Good evening," cried Madame Boche. "I won't disturb you."

Coupeau turned round, and took back the iron that Zidore was holding
for him. But just as the concierge was moving off, she caught sight of
Gervaise on the other side of the way, holding Nana by the hand. She was
already raising her head to tell the zinc-worker, when the young woman
closed her mouth by an energetic gesture, and, in a low voice, so as
not to be heard up there, she told her of her fear: she was afraid, by
showing herself suddenly, of giving her husband a shock which might make
him lose his balance. During the four years, she had only been once
to fetch him at his work. That day was the second time. She could not
witness it, her blood turned cold when she beheld her old man between
heaven and earth, in places where even the sparrows would not venture.

"No doubt, it's not pleasant," murmured Madame Boche. "My husband's a
tailor, so I have none of these terrors."

"If you only knew, in the early days," said Gervaise again, "I had
frights from morning till night. I was always seeing him on a stretcher,
with his head smashed. Now, I don't think of it so much. One gets u