No, I’m not more particular than another. I’ve handled some most disgusting linen in my time; but really, that lot I can’t stomach. What can the woman do to get her things into such a state?”
And she requested Clemence to look sharp.
But the girl continued her remarks, thrusting the clothes sullenly about her, with complaints on the soiled caps she waved like triumphal banners of filth.
Meanwhile the heaps around Gervaise had grown higher. Still seated on the edge of the stool, she was now disappearing between the petticoats and chemises.
In front of her were the sheets, the table cloths, a veritable mass of dirtiness. She seemed even rosier and more languid than usual within this spreading sea of soiled laundry.
She had regained her composure, forgetting Madame Gaudron’s laundry, stirring the various piles of clothing to make sure there had been no mistake in sorting.
Squint-eyed Augustine had just stuffed the stove so full of coke that its cast-iron sides were bright red.
The sun was shining obliquely on the window; the shop was in a blaze.
Then, Coupeau, whom the great heat intoxicated all the more, was seized with a sudden fit of tenderness.
He advanced towards Gervaise with open arms and deeply moved.
“You’re a good wife,” he stammered.
“I must kiss you.”
But he caught his foot in the garments which barred the way and nearly fell.
“What a nuisance you are!” said Gervaise without getting angry.
“Keep still, we’re nearly done now.”
No, he wanted to kiss her. He must do so because he loved her so much.
Whilst he stuttered he tried to get round the heap of petticoats and stumbled against the pile of chemises; then as he obstinately persisted his feet caught together and he fell flat, his nose in the midst of the dish-cloths.
Gervaise, beginning to lose her temper pushed him, saying that he was mixing all the things up.
But Clemence and even Madame Putois maintained that she was wrong.
It was very nice of him after all.
He wanted to kiss her. She might very well let herself be kissed.
“You’re lucky, you are, Madame Coupeau,” said Madame Bijard, whose drunkard of a husband, a locksmith, was nearly beating her to death each evening when he came in.
“If my old man was like that when he’s had a drop, it would be a real pleasure!”
Gervaise had calmed down and was already regretting her hastiness.
She helped Coupeau up on his legs again. Then she offered her cheek with a smile.
But the zinc-worker, without caring a button for the other people being present, seized her bosom.
“It’s not for the sake of saying so,” he murmured; “but your dirty linen stinks tremendously!
Still, I love you all the same, you know.”
“Leave off, you’re tickling me,” cried she, laughing the louder.
“What a great silly you are!
How can you be so absurd?”
He had caught hold of her and would not let her go.
She gradually abandoned herself to him, dizzy from the slight faintness caused by the heap of clothes and not minding Coupeau’s foul-smelling breath.
The long kiss they exchanged on each other’s mouths in the midst of the filth of the laundress’s trade was perhaps the first tumble in the slow downfall of their life together.
Madame Bijard had meanwhile been tying the laundry up into bundles and talking about her daughter, Eulalie, who at two was as smart as a grown woman.
She could be left by herself; she never cried or played with matches.
Finally Madame Bijard took the laundry away a bundle at a time, her face splotched with purple and her tall form bent under the weight.
“This heat is becoming unbearable, we’re roasting,” said Gervaise, wiping her face before returning to Madame Boche’s cap.
They talked of boxing Augustine’s ears when they saw that the stove was red-hot.
The irons, also, were getting in the same condition.
She must have the very devil in her body!
One could not turn one’s back a moment without her being up to some of her tricks.
Now they would have to wait a quarter of an hour before they would be able to use their irons.
Gervaise covered the fire with two shovelfuls of cinders.
Then she thought to hang some sheets on the brass wires near the ceiling to serve as curtains to keep out the sunlight.
Things were now better in the shop.
The temperature was still high, but you could imagine it was cooler.
Footsteps could still be heard outside but you were free to make yourself comfortable.
Clemence removed her camisole again.
Coupeau still refused to go to bed, so they allowed him to stay, but he had to promise to be quiet in a corner, for they were very busy.