All the honest feelings remaining in her revolted at the thought, and besides, as a rule a mother doesn’t like to have to think that her daughter, at that very moment, perhaps, is being familiarly addressed by the first chance comer.
But Gervaise was already too stultified with a sick head and a crushed heart, to think of the shame for long.
With her it came and went.
She remained sometimes for a week together without thinking of her daughter, and then suddenly a tender or an angry feeling seized hold of her, sometimes when she had her stomach empty, at others when it was full, a furious longing to catch Nana in some corner, where she would perhaps have kissed her or perhaps have beaten her, according to the fancy of the moment.
Whenever these thoughts came over her, Gervaise looked on all sides in the streets with the eyes of a detective.
Ah! if she had only seen her little sinner, how quickly she would have brought her home again!
The neighborhood was being turned topsy-turvy that year.
The Boulevard Magenta and the Boulevard Ornano were being pierced; they were doing away with the old Barriere Poissonniere and cutting right through the outer Boulevard.
The district could not be recognized.
The whole of one side of the Rue des Poissonniers had been pulled down.
From the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or a large clearing could now be seen, a dash of sunlight and open air; and in place of the gloomy buildings which had hidden the view in this direction there rose up on the Boulevard Ornano a perfect monument, a six-storied house, carved all over like a church, with clear windows, which, with their embroidered curtains, seemed symbolical of wealth.
This white house, standing just in front of the street, illuminated it with a jet of light, as it were, and every day it caused discussions between Lantier and Poisson.
Gervaise had several times had tidings of Nana.
There are always ready tongues anxious to pay you a sorry compliment.
Yes, she had been told that the hussy had left her old gentleman, just like the inexperienced girl she was.
She had gotten along famously with him, petted, adored, and free, too, if she had only known how to manage the situation.
But youth is foolish, and she had no doubt gone off with some young rake, no one knew exactly where.
What seemed certain was that one afternoon she had left her old fellow on the Place de la Bastille, just for half a minute, and he was still waiting for her to return.
Other persons swore they had seen her since, dancing on her heels at the “Grand Hall of Folly,” in the Rue de la Chapelle.
Then it was that Gervaise took it into her head to frequent all the dancing places of the neighborhood.
She did not pass in front of a public ball-room without going in.
Coupeau accompanied her.
At first they merely made the round of the room, looking at the drabs who were jumping about.
But one evening, as they had some coin, they sat down and ordered a large bowl of hot wine in view of regaling themselves and waiting to see if Nana would turn up.
At the end of a month or so they had practically forgotten her, but they frequented the halls for their own pleasure, liking to look at the dancers.
They would remain for hours without exchanging a word, resting their elbows on the table, stultified amidst the quaking of the floor, and yet no doubt amusing themselves as they stared with pale eyes at the Barriere women in the stifling atmosphere and ruddy glow of the hall.
It happened one November evening that they went into the “Grand Hall of Folly” to warm themselves.
Out of doors a sharp wind cut you across the face.
But the hall was crammed.
There was a thundering big swarm inside; people at all the tables, people in the middle, people up above, quite an amount of flesh. Yes, those who cared for tripes could enjoy themselves.
When they had made the round twice without finding a vacant table, they decided to remain standing and wait till somebody went off.
Coupeau was teetering on his legs, in a dirty blouse, with an old cloth cap which had lost its peak flattened down on his head.
And as he blocked the way, he saw a scraggy young fellow who was wiping his coat-sleeve after elbowing him.
“Say!” cried Coupeau in a fury, as he took his pipe out of his black mouth.
“Can’t you apologize?
And you play the disgusted one? Just because a fellow wears a blouse!”
The young man turned round and looked at the zinc-worker from head to foot.
“I’ll just teach you, you scraggy young scamp,” continued Coupeau, “that the blouse is the finest garment out; yes! the garment of work.
I’ll wipe you if you like with my fists. Did one ever hear of such a thing — a ne’er-do-well insulting a workman!”
Gervaise tried to calm him, but in vain.
He drew himself up in his rags, in full view, and struck his blouse, roaring:
“There’s a man’s chest under that!”
Thereupon the young man dived into the midst of the crowd, muttering:
“What a dirty blackguard!”
Coupeau wanted to follow and catch him.
He wasn’t going to let himself be insulted by a fellow with a coat on.
Probably it wasn’t even paid for!
Some second-hand toggery to impress a girl with, without having to fork out a centime.
If he caught the chap again, he’d bring him down on his knees and make him bow to the blouse.
But the crush was too great; there was no means of walking.