That evening the Poissons’ house-warming was very lively.
Friendship reigned without a hitch from one end of the feast to the other.
When bad times arrive one thus comes in for some pleasant evenings, hours during which sworn enemies love each other.
Lantier, with Gervaise on his left and Virginie on his right, was most amiable to both of them, lavishing little tender caresses like a cock who desires peace in his poultry-yard.
But the queens of the feast were the two little ones, Nana and Pauline, who had been allowed to keep on their things; they sat bolt upright through fear of spilling anything on their white dresses and at every mouthful they were told to hold up their chins so as to swallow cleanly.
Nana, greatly bored by all this fuss, ended by slobbering her wine over the body of her dress, so it was taken off and the stains were at once washed out in a glass of water.
Then at dessert the children’s future careers were gravely discussed.
Madame Boche had decided that Pauline would enter a shop to learn how to punch designs on gold and silver. That paid five or six francs a day.
Gervaise didn’t know yet because Nana had never indicated any preference.
“In your place,” said Madame Lerat, “I would bring Nana up as an artificial flower-maker.
It is a pleasant and clean employment.”
“Flower-makers?” muttered Lorilleux.
“Every one of them might as well walk the streets.”
“Well, what about me?” objected Madame Lerat, pursing her lips.
“You’re certainly not very polite.
I assure you that I don’t lie down for anyone who whistles.”
Then all the rest joined together in hushing her.
“Madame Lerat!
Oh, Madame Lerat!”
By side glances they reminded her of the two girls, fresh from communion, who were burying their noses in their glasses to keep from laughing out loud.
The men had been very careful, for propriety’s sake, to use only suitable language, but Madame Lerat refused to follow their example.
She flattered herself on her command of language, as she had often been complimented on the way she could say anything before children, without any offence to decency.
“Just you listen, there are some very fine women among the flower-makers!” she insisted.
“They’re just like other women and they show good taste when they choose to commit a sin.”
“Mon Dieu!” interrupted Gervaise,
“I’ve no dislike for artificial flower-making.
Only it must please Nana, that’s all I care about; one should never thwart children on the question of a vocation. Come Nana, don’t be stupid; tell me now, would you like to make flowers?”
The child was leaning over her plate gathering up the cake crumbs with her wet finger, which she afterwards sucked.
She did not hurry herself. She grinned in her vicious way.
“Why yes, mamma, I should like to,” she ended by declaring.
Then the matter was at once settled.
Coupeau was quite willing that Madame Lerat should take the child with her on the morrow to the place where she worked in the Rue du Caire.
And they all talked very gravely of the duties of life.
Boche said that Nana and Pauline were women now that they had partaken of communion.
Poisson added that for the future they ought to know how to cook, mend socks and look after a house.
Something was even said of their marrying, and of the children they would some day have.
The youngsters listened, laughing to themselves, elated by the thought of being women.
What pleased them the most was when Lantier teased them, asking if they didn’t already have little husbands.
Nana eventually admitted that she cared a great deal for Victor Fauconnier, son of her mother’s employer.
“Ah well,” said Madame Lorilleux to the Boches, as they were all leaving, “she’s our goddaughter, but as they’re going to put her into artificial flower-making, we don’t wish to have anything more to do with her.
Just one more for the boulevards. She’ll be leading them a merry chase before six months are over.”
On going up to bed, the Coupeaus agreed that everything had passed off well and that the Poissons were not at all bad people.
Gervaise even considered the shop was nicely got up.
She was surprised to discover that it hadn’t pained her at all to spend an evening there.
While Nana was getting ready for bed she contemplated her white dress and asked her mother if the young lady on the third floor had had one like it when she was married last month.
This was their last happy day.
Two years passed by, during which they sank deeper and deeper.
The winters were especially hard for them.
If they had bread to eat during the fine weather, the rain and cold came accompanied by famine, by drubbings before the empty cupboard, and by dinner-hours with nothing to eat in the little Siberia of their larder.
Villainous December brought numbing freezing spells and the black misery of cold and dampness.