“Mon Dieu,” he cried in a choked voice.
And he fell.
His body described a gentle curve, turned twice over on itself, and came smashing into the middle of the street with the dull thud of a bundle of clothes thrown from on high.
Gervaise, stupefied, her throat rent by one great cry, stood holding up her arms.
Some passers-by hastened to the spot; a crowd soon formed.
Madame Boche, utterly upset, her knees bending under her, took Nana in her arms, to hide her head and prevent her seeing.
Meanwhile, the little old woman opposite quietly closed her window, as though satisfied.
Four men ended by carrying Coupeau into a chemist’s, at the corner of the Rue des Poissonniers; and he remained there on a blanket, in the middle of the shop, whist they sent to the Lariboisiere Hospital for a stretcher.
He was still breathing.
Gervaise, sobbing, was kneeling on the floor beside him, her face smudged with tears, stunned and unseeing.
Her hands would reach to feel her husband’s limbs with the utmost gentleness. Then she would draw back as she had been warned not to touch him.
But a few seconds later she would touch him to assure herself that he was still warm, feeling somehow that she was helping him.
When the stretcher at length arrived, and they talked of starting for the hospital, she got up, saying violently:
“No, no, not to the hospital!
We live in the Rue Neuve de la Goutte-d’Or.”
It was useless for them to explain to her that the illness would cost her a great deal of money, if she took her husband home.
She obstinately repeated:
“Rue Neuve de la Goutte-d’Or; I will show you the house. What can it matter to you?
I’ve got money. He’s my husband, isn’t he?
He’s mine, and I want him at home.”
And they had to take Coupeau to his own home.
When the stretcher was carried through the crowd which was crushing up against the chemist’s shop, the women of the neighborhood were excitedly talking of Gervaise.
She limped, the dolt, but all the same she had some pluck.
She would be sure to save her old man; whilst at the hospital the doctors let the patients die who were very bad, so as not to have the bother of trying to cure them.
Madame Boche, after taking Nana home with her, returned, and gave her account of the accident, with interminable details, and still feeling agitated with the emotion she had passed through.
“I was going to buy a leg of mutton; I was there, I saw him fall,” repeated she.
“It was all through the little one; he turned to look at her, and bang!
Ah! good heavens!
I never want to see such a sight again.
However, I must be off to get my leg of mutton.”
For a week Coupeau was very bad.
The family, the neighbors, everyone, expected to see him turn for the worse at any moment.
The doctor — a very expensive doctor, who charged five francs for each visit — apprehended internal injuries, and these words filled everyone with fear.
It was said in the neighborhood that the zinc-worker’s heart had been injured by the shock.
Gervaise alone, looking pale through her nights of watching, serious and resolute, shrugged her shoulders.
Her old man’s right leg was broken, everyone knew that; it would be set for him, and that was all.
As for the rest, the injured heart, that was nothing.
She knew how to restore a heart with ceaseless care.
She was certain of getting him well and displayed magnificent faith.
She stayed close by him and caressed him gently during the long bouts of fever without a moment of doubt.
She was on her feet continuously for a whole week, completely absorbed by her determination to save him.
She forgot the street outside, the entire city, and even her own children.
On the ninth day, the doctor finally said that Coupeau would live.
Gervaise collapsed into a chair, her body limp from fatigue.
That night she consented to sleep for two hours with her head against the foot of the bed.
Coupeau’s accident had created quite a commotion in the family.
Mother Coupeau passed the nights with Gervaise; but as early as nine o’clock she fell asleep on a chair.
Every evening, on returning from work, Madame Lerat went a long round out of her way to inquire how her brother was getting on.
At first the Lorilleuxs had called two or three times a day, offering to sit up and watch, and even bringing an easy-chair for Gervaise.
Then it was not long before there were disputes as to the proper way to nurse invalids.