ky smear of neutral hue composed chiefly of faded blue and
dingy gray. When one of the workers occasionally stopped to light his
pipe the others kept plodding past him, without sparing a laugh or a
word to a comrade. With cheeks gray as clay, their eyes were continually
drawn toward Paris which was swallowing them one by one.

At both corners of the Rue des Poissonniers however, some of the men
slackened their pace as they neared the doors of the two wine-dealers
who were taking down their shutters; and, before entering, they stood on
the edge of the pavement, looking sideways over Paris, with no strength
in their arms and already inclined for a day of idleness. Inside various
groups were already buying rounds of drinks, or just standing around,
forgetting their troubles, crowding up the place, coughing, spitting,
clearing their throats with sip after sip.

Gervaise was watching Pere Colombe's wineshop to the left of the street,
where she thought she had seen Lantier, when a stout woman, bareheaded
and wearing an apron called to her from the middle of the roadway:

"Hey, Madame Lantier, you're up very early!"

Gervaise leaned out. "Why! It's you, Madame Boche! Oh! I've got a lot of
work to-day!"

"Yes, things don't do themselves, do they?"

The conversation continued between roadway and window. Madame Boche was
concierge of the building where the "Two-Headed Calf" was on the ground
floor. Gervaise had waited for Lantier more than once in the concierge's
lodge, so as not to be alone at table with all the men who ate at the
restaurant. Madame Boche was going to a tailor who was late in mending
an overcoat for her husband. She mentioned one of her tenants who had
come in with a woman the night before and kept everybody awake past
three in the morning. She looked at Gervaise with intense curiosity.

"Is Monsieur Lantier, then, still in bed?" she asked abruptly.

"Yes, he's asleep," replied Gervaise, who could not avoid blushing.

Madame Boche saw the tears come into her eyes; and, satisfied no doubt,
she turned to go, declaring men to be a cursed, lazy set. As she went
off, she called back:

"It's this morning you go to the wash-house, isn't it? I've something to
wash, too. I'll keep you a place next to me, and we can chat together."
Then, as if moved with sudden pity, she added:

"My poor little thing, you had far better not remain there; you'll take
harm. You look quite blue with cold."

Gervaise still obstin