“That’s worse than all!” cried she.
“You’re going to sleep in Clump-clump’s room.”
Gervaise became quite pale.
This nickname, which she received full in the face for the first time, fell on her like a blow.
And she fully understood it, too, her sister-in-law’s exclamation: the Clump-clump’s room was the room in which she had lived for a month with Lantier, where the shreds of her past life still hung about.
Coupeau did not understand this, but merely felt hurt at the harsh nickname.
“You do wrong to christen others,” he replied angrily.
“You don’t know perhaps, that in the neighborhood they call you Cow’s-Tail, because of your hair.
There, that doesn’t please you, does it?
Why should we not keep the room on the first floor?
To-night the children won’t sleep there, and we shall be very comfortable.”
Madame Lorilleux added nothing further, but retired into her dignity, horribly annoyed at being called Cow’s-Tail.
To cheer up Gervaise, Coupeau squeezed her arm softly. He even succeeded in making her smile by whispering into her ear that they were setting up housekeeping with the grand sum of seven sous, three big two-sou pieces and one little sou, which he jingled in his pocket.
When they reached the Hotel Boncoeur, the two couples wished each other good-night, with an angry air; and as Coupeau pushed the two women into each other’s arms, calling them a couple of ninnies, a drunken fellow, who seemed to want to go to the right, suddenly slipped to the left and came tumbling between them.
“Why, it’s old Bazouge!” said Lorilleux.
“He’s had his fill to-day.”
Gervaise, frightened, squeezed up against the door of the hotel.
Old Bazouge, an undertaker’s helper of some fifty years of age, had his black trousers all stained with mud, his black cape hooked on to his shoulder, and his black feather hat knocked in by some tumble he had taken.
“Don’t be afraid, he’s harmless,” continued Lorilleux.
“He’s a neighbor of ours — the third room in the passage before us.
He would find himself in a nice mess if his people were to see him like this!”
Old Bazouge, however, felt offended at the young woman’s evident terror.
“Well, what!” hiccoughed he, “we ain’t going to eat any one.
I’m as good as another any day, my little woman. No doubt I’ve had a drop!
When work’s plentiful one must grease the wheels.
It’s not you, nor your friends, who would have carried down the stiff ‘un of forty-seven stone whom I and a pal brought from the fourth floor to the pavement, and without smashing him too. I like jolly people.”
But Gervaise retreated further into the doorway, seized with a longing to cry, which spoilt her day of sober-minded joy.
She no longer thought of kissing her sister-in-law, she implored Coupeau to get rid of the drunkard.
Then Bazouge, as he stumbled about, made a gesture of philosophical disdain.
“That won’t prevent you passing though our hands, my little woman. You’ll perhaps be glad to do so, one of these days. Yes, I know some women who’d be much obliged if we did carry them off.”
And, as Lorilleux led him away, he turned around, and stuttered out a last sentence, between two hiccoughs.
“When you’re dead — listen to this — when you’re dead, it’s for a long, long time.”
CHAPTER IV
Then followed four years of hard work.
In the neighborhood, Gervaise and Coupeau had the reputation of being a happy couple, living in retirement without quarrels, and taking a short walk regularly every Sunday in the direction of St. Ouen.
The wife worked twelve hours a day at Madame Fauconnier’s, and still found means to keep their lodging as clean and bright as a new coined sou and to prepare the meals for all her little family, morning and evening.
The husband never got drunk, brought his wages home every fortnight, and smoked a pipe at his window in the evening, to get a breath of fresh air before going to bed.
They were frequently alluded to on account of their nice, pleasant ways; and as between them they earned close upon nine francs a day, it was reckoned that they were able to put by a good deal of money.
However, during their first months together they had to struggle hard to get by.
Their wedding had left them owing two hundred francs.
Also, they detested the Hotel Boncoeur as they didn’t like the other occupants.
Their dream was to have a home of their own with their own furniture.
They were always figuring how much they would need and decided three hundred and fifty francs at least, in order to be able to buy little items that came up later.
They were in despair at ever being able to collect such a large sum when a lucky chance came their way. An old gentleman at Plassans offered to take the older boy, Claude, and send him to an academy down there.
The old man, who loved art, had previously been much impressed by Claude’s sketches.
Claude had already begun to cost them quite a bit.
Now, with only Etienne to support, they were able to accumulate the money in a little over seven months.
One day they were finally able to buy their own furniture from a second-hand dealer on Rue Belhomme. Their hearts filled with happiness, they celebrated by walking home along the exterior Boulevards.
They had purchased a bed, a night table, a chest of drawers with a marble top, a wardrobe, a round table covered with oilcloth, and six chairs. All were of dark mahogany. They also bought blankets, linen, and kitchen utensils that were scarcely used.
It meant settling down and giving themselves a status in life as property owners, as persons to be respected.