And so Coupeau squinted admiringly at My-Boots.
Why, the lucky dog even had a gold ring on his little finger!
Gervaise touched Coupeau on the shoulder just as he was coming out of the little Civet.
“Say, I’m waiting; I’m hungry!
I’ve got an empty stomach which is all I ever get from you.”
But he silenced her in a capital style,
“You’re hungry, eh? Well, eat your fist, and keep the other for to-morrow.”
He considered it highly improper to do the dramatic in other people’s presence.
What, he hadn’t worked, and yet the bakers kneaded bread all the same.
Did she take him for a fool, to come and try to frighten him with her stories?
“Do you want me to turn thief?” she muttered, in a dull voice.
My-Boots stroked his chin in conciliatory fashion.
“No, that’s forbidden,” said he.
“But when a woman knows how to handle herself — “
And Coupeau interrupted him to call out “Bravo!”
Yes, a woman always ought to know how to handle herself, but his wife had always been a helpless thing.
It would be her fault if they died on the straw.
Then he relapsed into his admiration for My-Boots.
How awfully fine he looked!
A regular landlord; with clean linen and swell shoes!
They were no common stuff!
His wife, at all events, knew how to keep the pot boiling!
The two men walked towards the outer Boulevard, and Gervaise followed them.
After a pause, she resumed, talking behind Coupeau’s back:
“I’m hungry; you know, I relied on you. You must find me something to nibble.”
He did not answer, and she repeated, in a tone of despairing agony:
“Is that all I get from you?”
“Mon Dieu! I’ve no coin,” he roared, turning round in a fury.
“Just leave me alone, eh? Or else I’ll hit you.”
He was already raising his fist.
She drew back, and seemed to make up her mind.
“All right, I’ll leave you.
I guess I can find a man.”
The zinc-worker laughed at this.
He pretended to make a joke of the matter, and strengthened her purpose without seeming to do so.
That was a fine idea of hers, and no mistake!
In the evening, by gaslight, she might still hook a man.
He recommended her to try the Capuchin restaurant where one could dine very pleasantly in a small private room.
And, as she went off along the Boulevard, looking pale and furious he called out to her:
“Listen, bring me back some dessert. I like cakes! And if your gentleman is well dressed, ask him for an old overcoat. I could use one.”
With these words ringing in her ears, Gervaise walked softly away.
But when she found herself alone in the midst of the crowd, she slackened her pace.
She was quite resolute.
Between thieving and the other, well she preferred the other; for at all events she wouldn’t harm any one.
No doubt it wasn’t proper.
But what was proper and what was improper was sorely muddled together in her brain.
When you are dying of hunger, you don’t philosophize, you eat whatever bread turns up.
She had gone along as far as the Chaussee-Clignancourt.
It seemed as if the night would never come.
However, she followed the Boulevards like a lady who is taking a stroll before dinner.