Then, realising that passion would compromise everything, he swore that he would never again interest himself in the affairs of other people, for one always got more kicks than thanks; and indeed he appeared to have given up all idea of talking them into parting with the lease, but he was really watching for a favorable opportunity of broaching the subject again and of bringing the laundress round to his views.
January had now arrived; the weather was wretched, both damp and cold.
Mother Coupeau, who had coughed and choked all through December, was obliged to take to her bed after Twelfth-night.
It was her annuity, which she expected every winter.
This winter though, those around her said she’d never come out of her bedroom except feet first.
Indeed, her gaspings sounded like a death rattle. She was still fat, but one eye was blind and one side of her face was twisted.
The doctor made one call and didn’t return again.
They kept giving her tisanes and going to check on her every hour.
She could no longer speak because her breathing was so difficult.
One Monday evening, Coupeau came home totally drunk.
Ever since his mother was in danger, he had lived in a continual state of deep emotion.
When he was in bed, snoring soundly, Gervaise walked about the place for a while.
She was in the habit of watching over mother Coupeau during a part of the night. Nana had showed herself very brave, always sleeping beside the old woman, and saying that if she heard her dying, she would wake everyone.
Since the invalid seemed to be sleeping peacefully this night, Gervaise finally yielded to the appeals of Lantier to come into his room for a little rest.
They only kept a candle alight, standing on the ground behind the wardrobe.
But towards three o’clock Gervaise abruptly jumped out of bed, shivering and oppressed with anguish.
She thought she had felt a cold breath pass over her body.
The morsel of candle had burnt out; she tied on her petticoats in the dark, all bewildered, and with feverish hands.
It was not till she got into the little room, after knocking up against the furniture, that she was able to light a small lamp.
In the midst of the oppressive silence of night, the zinc-worker’s snores alone sounded as two grave notes.
Nana, stretched on her back, was breathing gently between her pouting lips.
And Gervaise, holding down the lamp which caused big shadows to dance about the room, cast the light on mother Coupeau’s face, and beheld it all white, the head lying on the shoulder, the eyes wide open.
Mother Coupeau was dead.
Gently, without uttering a cry, icy cold yet prudent, the laundress returned to Lantier’s room.
He had gone to sleep again.
She bent over him and murmured:
“Listen, it’s all over, she’s dead.”
Heavy with sleep, only half awake, he grunted at first:
“Leave me alone, get into bed. We can’t do her any good if she’s dead.”
Then he raised himself on his elbow and asked:
“What’s the time?”
“Three o’clock.”
“Only three o’clock!
Get into bed quick. You’ll catch cold. When it’s daylight, we’ll see what’s to be done.”
But she did not listen to him, she dressed herself completely.
Bundling himself in the blankets, Lantier muttered about how stubborn women were.
What was the hurry to announce a death in the house?
He was irritated at having his sleep spoiled by such gloomy matters.
Meanwhile, Gervaise had moved her things back into her own room. Then she felt free to sit down and cry, no longer fearful of being caught in Lantier’s room.
She had been fond of mother Coupeau and felt a deep sorrow at her loss.
She sat, crying by herself, her sobs loud in the silence, but Coupeau never stirred.
She had spoken to him and even shaken him and finally decided to let him sleep. He would be more of a nuisance if he woke up.
On returning to the body, she found Nana sitting up in bed rubbing her eyes.
The child understood, and with her vicious urchin’s curiosity, stretched out her neck to get a better view of her grandmother; she said nothing but she trembled slightly, surprised and satisfied in the presence of this death which she had been promising herself for two days past, like some nasty thing hidden away and forbidden to children; and her young cat-like eyes dilated before that white face all emaciated at the last gasp by the passion of life, she felt that tingling in her back which she felt behind the glass door when she crept there to spy on what was no concern of chits like her.
“Come, get up,” said her mother in a low voice.
“You can’t remain here.”
She regretfully slid out of bed, turning her head round and not taking her eyes off the corpse.
Gervaise was much worried about her, not knowing where to put her till day-time.
She was about to tell her to dress herself, when Lantier, in his trousers and slippers, rejoined her.
He could not get to sleep again, and was rather ashamed of his behavior.