mpty of men who had gone back to work after lunch. The whole tenement
was tranquil except for the sounds from the work-shops below which
served as a sort of lullaby that went on, unceasingly, always the same.

The only thing she did not like was the courtyard's dampness. She would
want rooms at the rear, on the sunny side. Gervaise took a few more
steps into the courtyard, inhaling the characteristic odor of the slums,
comprised of dust and rotten garbage. But the sharp odor of the waste
water from the dye shop was strong, and Gervaise thought it smelled
better here than at the Hotel Boncoeur. She chose a window for herself,
the one at the far left with a small window box planted with scarlet
runners.

"I'm afraid I've kept you waiting rather a long time," said Coupeau,
whom she suddenly heard close beside her. "They always make an awful
fuss whenever I don't dine with them, and it was worse than ever to-day
as my sister had bought some veal."

And as Gervaise had slightly started with surprise, he continued
glancing around in his turn:

"You were looking at the house. It's always all let from the top to
the bottom. There are three hundred lodgers, I think. If I had any
furniture, I would have secured a small room. One would be comfortable
here, don't you think so?"

"Yes, one would be comfortable," murmured Gervaise. "In our street at
Plassans there weren't near so many people. Look, that's pretty--that
window up on the fifth floor, with the scarlet runners."

The zinc-worker's obstinate desire made him ask her once more whether
she would or she wouldn't. They could rent a place here as soon as they
found a bed. She hurried out the arched entranceway, asking him not
to start that subject again. There was as much chance of this building
collapsing as there was of her sleeping under the same blanket with him.
Still, when Coupeau left her in front of Madame Fauconnier's shop, he
was allowed to hold her hand for a moment.

For a month the young woman and the zinc-worker were the best of
friends. He admired her courage, when he beheld her half killing herself
with work, keeping her children tidy and clean, and yet finding time at
night to do a little sewing. Often other women were hopelessly messy,
forever nibbling or gadding about, but she wasn't like them at all. She
was much too serious. Then she would laugh, and modestly defend herself.
It was her misfortune that she had not always been good, having been
with a