It was too great an affliction for a family to have to keep a corpse so long a time.
The government ought to have made a new law on the subject.
All through another evening, another night, and another morning — no! it would never come to an end.
When one no longer weeps, grief turns to irritation; is it not so? One would end by misbehaving oneself.
Mother Coupeau, dumb and stiff in the depths of the narrow chamber, was spreading more and more over the lodging and becoming heavy enough to crush the people in it.
And the family, in spite of itself, gradually fell into the ordinary mode of life, and lost some portion of its respect.
“You must have a mouthful with us,” said Gervaise to Madame Lerat and Madame Lorilleux, when they returned.
“We’re too sad; we must keep together.”
They laid the cloth on the work-table.
Each one, on seeing the plates, thought of the feastings they had had on it.
Lantier had returned.
Lorilleux came down.
A pastry-cook had just brought a meat pie, for the laundress was too upset to attend to any cooking.
As they were taking their seats, Boche came to say that Monsieur Marescot asked to be admitted, and the landlord appeared, looking very grave, and wearing a broad decoration on his frock-coat.
He bowed in silence and went straight to the little room, where he knelt down.
All the family, leaving the table, stood up, greatly impressed. Monsieur Marescot, having finished his devotions, passed into the shop and said to the Coupeaus:
“I have come for the two quarters’ rent that’s overdue.
Are you prepared to pay?”
“No, sir, not quite,” stammered Gervaise, greatly put out at hearing this mentioned before the Lorilleuxs.
“You see, with the misfortune which has fallen upon us — “
“No doubt, but everyone has their troubles,” resumed the landlord, spreading out his immense fingers, which indicated the former workman.
“I am very sorry, but I cannot wait any longer. If I am not paid by the morning after to-morrow, I shall be obliged to have you put out.”
Gervaise, struck dumb, imploringly clasped her hands, her eyes full of tears.
With an energetic shake of his big bony head, he gave her to understand that supplications were useless.
Besides, the respect due to the dead forbade all discussion.
He discreetly retired, walking backwards.
“A thousand pardons for having disturbed you,” murmured he.
“The morning after to-morrow; do not forget.”
And as on withdrawing he again passed before the little room, he saluted the corpse a last time through the wide open door by devoutly bending his knee.
They began eating and gobbled the food down very quickly, so as not to seem to be enjoying it, only slowing down when they reached the dessert.
Occasionally Gervaise or one of the sisters would get up, still holding her napkin, to look into the small room.
They made plenty of strong coffee to keep them awake through the night.
The Poissons arrived about eight and were invited for coffee.
Then Lantier, who had been watching Gervaise’s face, seemed to seize an opportunity that he had been waiting for ever since the morning.
In speaking of the indecency of landlords who entered houses of mourning to demand their money, he said:
“He’s a Jesuit, the beast, with his air of officiating at a mass! But in your place, I’d just chuck up the shop altogether.”
Gervaise, quite worn out and feeling weak and nervous, gave way and replied:
“Yes, I shall certainly not wait for the bailiffs. Ah! it’s more than I can bear — more than I can bear.”
The Lorilleuxs, delighted at the idea that Clump-clump would no longer have a shop, approved the plan immensely.
One could hardly conceive the great cost a shop was.
If she only earned three francs working for others she at least had no expenses; she did not risk losing large sums of money.
They repeated this argument to Coupeau, urging him on; he drank a great deal and remained in a continuous fit of sensibility, weeping all day by himself in his plate.
As the laundress seemed to be allowing herself to be convinced, Lantier looked at the Poissons and winked.
And tall Virginie intervened, making herself most amiable.
“You know, we might arrange the matter between us.
I would relieve you of the rest of the lease and settle your matter with the landlord. In short, you would not be worried nearly so much.”
“No thanks,” declared Gervaise, shaking herself as though she felt a shudder pass over her.
“I’ll work; I’ve got my two arms, thank heaven! to help me out of my difficulties.”
“We can talk about it some other time,” the hatter hastened to put in.
“It’s scarcely the thing to do so this evening.