his linen in order, prevent him from beginning a new score at the
wine-shop; a wife, in short, who would combine all the useful qualities
of a housekeeper, and who, in addition, would not be a stupid fool, but
would understand him and laugh with him. Such a wife was all found:
Germinie was the very one. She probably had a little hoard, a few sous
laid by during the time she had been in her old mistress's service; and
with what he earned they could "grub along" in comfort. He had no doubt
of her consent; he was sure beforehand that she would accept his
proposition. More than that, her scruples, if she had any, would not
hold out against the prospect of marriage which he proposed to exhibit
to her at the end of their _liaison_.

One Monday she had come to his room as usual.

"Say, Germinie," he began, "what would you say to this, eh? A good
room--not like this box--a real room, with a closet--at Montmartre, and
two windows, no less! Rue de l'Empereur--with a view an Englishman would
give five thousand francs to carry away with him. Something first-class,
bright, and cheerful, you know, a place where you could stay all day
without hating yourself. Because, I tell you I'm beginning to have
enough of moving about here and there just to change fleas. And that
isn't all, either: I'm tired of being cooped up in furnished lodgings,
I'm tired of being all alone. Friends don't make society. They fall on
you like flies in your glass when you're to pay, and then, there you
are! In the first place, I don't propose to drink any more, honor
bright! no more for me, you'll see! You understand I don't intend to use
myself up in this life, not if I know myself. Not by any means!
Attention! We mustn't let drink get the better of us. It seemed to me
those days as if I'd been swallowing corkscrews. And I've no desire to
knock at the monument just yet. Well, to go from the thread to the
needle, this is what I thought: I'll make the proposition to Germinie.
I'll treat myself to a little furniture. You've got what you have in
your room. You know I'm not much of a shirker, I haven't a lazy bone in
my body where work's concerned. And then we might look to not always be
working for others: we might take a lodging-house for country thieves.
If you had a little something put aside, that would help. We would join
forces in genteel fashion, and have ourselves straightened out some day
before the mayor. That's not such a bad scheme, is it, old girl, eh?