The building seemed to have grown larger under the moonless sky.
The drip-drip of water from the faucet sounded loud in the quiet.
Gervaise felt that the building was threatening to suffocate her and a chill went through her body.
It was a childish fear and she smiled at it a moment later.
“Watch your step,” warned Coupeau.
To get to the entrance, Gervaise had to jump over a wide puddle that had drained from the dye shop.
The puddle was blue now, the deep blue of a summer sky. The reflections from the night light of the concierge sparkled in it like stars.
CHAPTER III
Gervaise did not want to have a wedding-party!
What was the use of spending money?
Besides, she still felt somewhat ashamed; it seemed to her quite unnecessary to parade the marriage before the whole neighborhood.
But Coupeau cried out at that. One could not be married without having a feed.
He did not care a button for the people of the neighborhood!
Nothing elaborate, just a short walk and a rabbit ragout in the first eating-house they fancied.
No music with dessert.
Just a glass or two and then back home.
The zinc-worker, chaffing and joking, at length got the young woman to consent by promising her that there should be no larks.
He would keep his eye on the glasses, to prevent sunstrokes.
Then he organized a sort of picnic at five francs a head, at the “Silver Windmill,” kept by Auguste, on the Boulevard de la Chapelle.
It was a small cafe with moderate charges and had a dancing place in the rear, beneath the three acacias in the courtyard.
They would be very comfortable on the first floor.
During the next ten days, he got hold of guests in the house where his sister lived in the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or — Monsieur Madinier, Mademoiselle Remanjou, Madame Gaudron and her husband.
He even ended by getting Gervaise to consent to the presence of two of his comrades — Bibi-the-Smoker and My-Boots.
No doubt My-Boots was a boozer; but then he had such a fantastic appetite that he was always asked to join those sort of gatherings, just for the sight of the caterer’s mug when he beheld that bottomless pit swallowing his twelve pounds of bread.
The young woman on her side, promised to bring her employer Madame Fauconnier and the Boches, some very agreeable people.
On counting, they found there would be fifteen to sit down to table, which was quite enough.
When there are too many, they always wind up by quarrelling.
Coupeau however, had no money.
Without wishing to show off, he intended to behave handsomely.
He borrowed fifty francs of his employer.
Out of that, he first of all purchased the wedding-ring — a twelve franc gold wedding-ring, which Lorilleux procured for him at the wholesale price of nine francs.
He then bought himself a frock coat, a pair of trousers and a waistcoat at a tailor’s in the Rue Myrrha, to whom he gave merely twenty-five francs on account; his patent leather shoes and his hat were still good enough.
When he had put by the ten francs for his and Gervaise’s share of the feast — the two children not being charged for — he had exactly six francs left — the price of a low mass at the altar of the poor.
He had no liking for those black crows, the priests. It would gripe him to pay his last six francs to keep their whistles wet; however, a marriage without a mass wasn’t a real marriage at all.
Going to the church himself, he bargained for a whole hour with a little old priest in a dirty cassock who was as sharp at dealing as a push-cart peddler.
Coupeau felt like boxing his ears. For a joke, he asked the priest if he didn’t have a second-hand mass that would do for a modest young couple.
The priest, mumbling that God would take small pleasure in blessing their union, finally let his have his mass for five francs.
Well after all, that meant twenty sous saved.
Gervaise also wanted to look decent.
As soon as the marriage was settled, she made her arrangements, worked extra time in the evenings, and managed to put thirty francs on one side.
She had a great longing for a little silk mantle marked thirteen francs in the Rue du Faubourg Poissonniere.
She treated herself to it, and then bought for ten francs of the husband of a washerwoman who had died in Madame Fauconnier’s house a blue woolen dress, which she altered to fit herself.
With the seven francs remaining she procured a pair of cotton gloves, a rose for her cap, and some shoes for Claude, her eldest boy.
Fortunately the youngsters’ blouses were passable.
She spent four nights cleaning everything, and mending the smallest holes in her stockings and chemise.
On Friday night, the eve of the great day, Gervaise and Coupeau had still a good deal of running about to do up till eleven o’clock, after returning home from work.
Then before separating for the night they spent an hour together in the young woman’s room, happy at being about to be released from their awkward position.
In spite of the fact that they had originally resolved not to put themselves out to impress the neighbors, they had ended by taking it seriously and working themselves till they were weary.
By the time they said “Good-night,” they were almost asleep on their feet.
They breathed a great sigh of relief now that everything was ready.