k through nothing but a
fit of temper. After these outbursts, she would be taken back out of
charity, which embittered her still more.

As for Coupeau, he did perhaps work, but in that case he certainly made
a present of his labour to the government; for Gervaise never saw his
money. She no longer looked in his hands when he returned home on
paydays. He arrived swinging his arms, his pockets empty, and often
without his handkerchief. Good gracious! Yes, he had lost his fogle, or
else some rascally comrade had sneaked it. At first he made excuses; he
invented all sorts of lies--ten francs for a subscription, twenty francs
fallen through a hole which he showed in his pocket, fifty francs
disbursed in paying off imaginary debts. After a little, he no longer
troubled himself to give any explanations. The money evaporated, that
was all!

Yes, it was their fault if they descended lower and lower every season.
But that is the sort of thing one never tells one self, especially when
one is down in the gutter. They accused their bad fortune; they
pretended that fate was against them. Their home had become a little
hell by this time. They bickered away the whole day. However, they had
not yet come to blows, with the exception of a few smacks which somehow
were given at the height of their disputes. The saddest thing was that
they had opened the cage of affection; the better feelings had all taken
flight like so many canaries. The loving warmth of father, mother, and
child, when united and wrapped up in each other, deserted them, and left
them shivering, each in his or her own corner. The whole three--Coupeau,
Gervaise, and Nana--were ever ready to seize one another by the hair,
biting each other for nothing at all, their eyes full of hatred. What
use was he, that drunkard? thought Gervaise. To make her weep, to eat up
all she possessed, to drive her to sin. Well, men so useless as he
should be thrown as quickly as possible into the hole, and the polka of
deliverance be danced over them.

_VI.--The Final Ruin_

Presently, Gervaise took to fuddling with her husband at the
"Assommoir." She sank lower than ever; she missed going to her work
oftener, gossipped for whole days, and became as soft as a rag whenever
she had any work to do. If a thing fell from her hands, it might remain
on the floor; it was certainly not she who would have bent down to pick
it up. She intended to save her bacon. She took her ease, and never
handle