That squint-eyed Augustine almost burst, the joke seemed to her so funny.
The others bullied her.
There was a brat for you who laughed at words she ought not to understand!
Clemence handed her her iron; the apprentice finished up the irons on the stockings and the dish-cloths when they were not hot enough for the starched things.
But she took hold of this one so clumsily that she made herself a cuff in the form of a long burn on the wrist.
And she sobbed and accused Clemence of having burnt her on purpose.
The latter who had gone to fetch a very hot iron for the shirt-front consoled her at once by threatening to iron her two ears if she did not leave off.
Then she placed a piece of flannel under the front and slowly passed the iron over it giving the starch time to show up and dry.
The shirt-front became as stiff and as shiny as cardboard.
“By golly!” swore Coupeau, who was treading behind her with the obstinacy of a drunkard.
He raised himself up with a shrill laugh that resembled a pulley in want of grease.
Clemence, leaning heavily over the ironing-table, her wrists bent in, her elbows sticking out and wide apart was bending her neck in a last effort; and all her muscles swelled, her shoulders rose with the slow play of the muscles beating beneath the soft skin, her breasts heaved, wet with perspiration in the rosy shadow of the half open chemise.
Then Coupeau thrust out his hands, trying to touch her bare flesh.
“Madame!
Madame!” cried Clemence, “do make him leave off!
I shall go away if it continues.
I won’t be intimated.”
Gervaise glanced over just as her husband’s hands began to explore inside the chemise.
“Really, Coupeau, you’re too foolish,” said she, with a vexed air, as though she were scolding a child who persisted in eating his jam without bread.
“You must go to bed.”
“Yes, go to bed, Monsieur Coupeau; it will be far better,” exclaimed Madame Putois.
“Ah! Well,” stuttered he, without ceasing to chuckle, “you’re all precious particular!
So one mustn’t amuse oneself now?
Women, I know how to handle them; I’ll only kiss them, no more.
One admires a lady, you know, and wants to show it.
And, besides, when one displays one’s goods, it’s that one may make one’s choice, isn’t it?
Why does the tall blonde show everything she’s got?
It’s not decent.”
And turning towards Clemence, he added:
“You know, my lovely, you’re wrong to be to very insolent. If it’s because there are others here — “
But he was unable to continue. Gervaise very calmly seized hold of him with one hand, and placed the other on his mouth.
He struggled, just by way of a joke, whilst she pushed him to the back of the shop, towards the bedroom.
He got his mouth free and said that he was willing to go to bed, but that the tall blonde must come and warm his feet.
Then Gervaise could be heard taking off his shoes.
She removed his clothes too, bullying him in a motherly way.
He burst out laughing after she had removed his trousers and kicked about, pretending that she was tickling him.
At last she tucked him in carefully like a child.
Was he comfortable now?
But he did not answer; he called to Clemence:
“I say, my lovely, I’m here, and waiting for you!”
When Gervaise went back into the shop, the squint-eyed Augustine was being properly chastised by Clemence because of a dirty iron that Madame Putois had used and which had caused her to soil a camisole.
Clemence, in defending herself for not having cleaned her iron, blamed Augustine, swearing that it wasn’t hers, in spite of the spot of burned starch still clinging to the bottom.
The apprentice, outraged at the injustice, openly spat on the front of Clemence’s dress, earning a slap for her boldness.
Now, as Augustine went about cleaning the iron, she saved up her spit and each time she passed Clemence spat on her back and laughed to herself.
Gervaise continued with the lace of Madame Boche’s cap.
In the sudden calm which ensued, one could hear Coupeau’s husky voice issuing from the depths of the bedroom.
He was still jolly, and was laughing to himself as he uttered bits of phrases.
“How stupid she is, my wife!
How stupid of her to put me to bed!
Really, it’s too absurd, in the middle of the day, when one isn’t sleepy.”