Terre Haute Weekly Gazette, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 27 November 1879 — Page 6

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A A CLOUDS IN THE HORIZON.

That winter Mamma Coupeau was very ill with aa asthmatic attack, which she always expected in the month of December. •.$/••

The poor woman suffered much, and the depression of her spirits was naturally very great. It must be' confessed that there was nothing very gay in the aspect of the room where she slept. Between her bed and that of the little girl there was just room for a chair. The paper hung in strips from the wall. Through a round window near the ceiling came a dreary gray light. There was little ventilation in the room, which made it especially unfct for the old woman, who, at night, when Nana was there, and she1* could "hear her breathe, did not complain tat. when left alone during the day, moaH&incessantly, rolling her head about oif^er pillow.

Ah!" she said, "how unhappy I am! It is the same as a prison. 1 wish I were dead!*-- J?

And as soon as A vitfitor*came in— "Viryinie or Madame Bochc—she poured Out her grievances. "I should not suffer so. much among strangers. I should like, some times, a

cup

get

She told the most preposterous tales to Madame Lerat about Gervaise—of her new finery, and of cakes and delicacies eaten in the corner, and many other things of infinitely more consequence. Then in a little while she turned against the Lorilleux, and talked of them in the most bitter manner. At the height of her illness it so happened that her two daughters met or.e afternoon at her bedside. Their mother made a motion to them to come closer. Then she went on to tell them, between paroxysms of coughing, that her son came home dead-drunk the night before, and that she was absolutely certain that Gervaise spent the night in Lantiers room. "It is all the more disgusting," she added, "because I am certain that Nana heard what was k'oing on quite

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well as I did."

The two women did not appear either shocked or

Burprised.

"It is none of our business," said Madame Lorilleux.

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THE FRENCH OF &

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AUTHOR OF "HELKNE OR, USE PAGE D'AMOUR," "THE ABBRrS TEMPTATION OR

LA FAUTE DE L'ABBF. MOURET," ETC.

GERVAISE.

CHAPTER IX, ..'

of tisane, but I can't

it and Nana—that child whom I have raised from the cradle—disappears in the morning and never shows her face until night, when she sleeps right through and never once &6ks me how I ain, or if she can do anything for me. It will soon be over, and I really believe this clear-starcher would smother me herself—if she were not afraid of the law!"

Gervaise, it is true, wa& not ae gentle and sweet as she had leen. Everything 6eemed to be going wrong with her, and she had lost heart and patience together. Mamma Coupeau had overheard hersaying that she was really a great burthen. This naturally cut her to the heart, and when she saw her eldest daughter, Madame Lerat, she wept piteously, and declared that shj was being starved to death, and when these eomplaints drew irom her daughter's pocket a little silver, she expended it in dainties.

Cpupeau does n6t

choose to take, any notice oi her conduct, it is not for us to do so." All the neighborhood were soon informed of the conditioA of things by her two 6isters-in-law, who declared they entered her doors only on their mother's account, who, poor thing, was compelled to live amid these abominations.

Every one accused Gervaise now of having perverted poor Lantier. "Men will be men," they said "surely you can't expect them to turn a cold shoulder to iVomcit.^ho throw themselves at their heads. She has no possible excuse she is a disgrace t» the whole street!1'

The Lorilleux invited Nana to dinner, that they might question her, but as soon as they began, the child looked absolutely stupid, and they could extort nothing* from her.

Amid this sudden and fierce indignation, Gervaise lived—indifferent, dull and stupid. At first she loathed herself, and if Coupeau laid his hand on her she shivered, and ran away from him. But, by degrees, 6he became accustomed to it. lier mdulence had become excessive, and sue only wished to be quiet and comfortable.

After all, she asked herself, why should she care? If'her lover and her hiioband werV satisfied, why should she not be, too? So the household went on much as uqual to all appear&nce. Io reality, whenever Coupeau came in tipsy," she left and went to, Lantiers room to sleep. She was not led th^re by passion or affection it was Simply that it was more comfortable. jrSihe was very like a cat in her choice of •fcaCt, clean places. ?Mamma Coupeiui never dared to' tr&ak out openly to the clear-starcher, but after a dispute »he was unsparing in her hints and allusions. The first time

Gervaise fixed her eyes on her, and hearo all she had to say in profound silence. Then without seeming to speak of herself, she took occasion to say ngfc long nfterward that when a woman was married to a man who was drinking himself to death, that a woman was very much to pitied, and by no means to blame if she looktd for consolation elsewhere.

Another time, when taunted by the old

Woman,

she wfcnt still further, and

declared that Lantier was as much her hsuband as was Coupeau—that he was the father of two of her children. She talked a little twaddle about the laws of nature, and a shrewd observer would ave seen that she—parrot-like—was re­

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peating the words that some other person had put into'her mouth. Besides, what were her neighbors doing all about her? They w« re not so extremely respectable that'they had the right to attack her. And then she took house after house, and showed her mother-in-law that while apparently 60 deaf to gossip, she yet knew all that was going on about her. Yes, she knew—and now she seemed to gloat over that, which once had shocked and revolted her. "It is none of my business I admit," she cried "let each person live as he pleases, according to his own light, and let everybody else alone."

One day when Mamma Coupeau spoke oat more clearly, she said \v:th compressed lips: fBj 1 "Now look here: you are flat

Oh'

your

back, and you take advantage of that fact. I have neyer said a word to you about your own life, but I know it all the 6ame—and it was atrocious! That's all! I am not going into particulars. But remember, you had best not sit in judgment on me."

The old woman was nearly suftpcated with rage and cough. The next day Goujet came for his mother's wash while Gervaise was out. Mamma Coupeau called him into her room and kept him an hour. She read the young man's heart, she knew that his suspicions made him miserable. And in revenge for something that had disr pleased her, she told him the truth with many sighs and tears, as it her daughter-in-law's infamous conduct was a bitter blow to her.

When Goujet left the room he was deadly pale, aiid looked ten years older than when he went in. The old woman had, too, the additional pleasure of telling Gprvaise on her turn that Madame Goujet had sent word that her linen must be returned to her at ortce, ironed or unironed. And she was so animated and comparatively amiable that Gervaise scented the truth, and knew inr stinctively what she had done, and what she was to expect with Goujet, Pale and trembling, she piled the linen neatly in a basket, and set forth to see Madame Goujet. Years had passed since she had paid her friends one penny. The debt still stood at four hundred and twenty-five francs. Each time she took the money for her washing she spoke of being pressed just at that time. It was a great mortification for her.

Coupeau was, however, less scrupulous, and Baid with a laugh, that if she kissed her friend occasionally in the corner, it would keep things straight and pay him well. Then Gervaise, with eyes blazing with indignation, would ask if he realh' meant that. Had he falien so low Neither should he speak of Goujet i$ that way in her presence.

Every time she took home the linen of these former friends she ascended,the stairs with a sick heart. "Ah it is you, is it!" said Madame Gouget, coldly, as she opened the door.

Gervaise entered with some hesitation she- did not dare attempt to excuse herself. She was no longer punctual to the hour nor the day—everything about her was becoming perfectly disorderly. "For one whole week," resumed the lace-mender, "you have kept me waiting. You have told me falsehood after falsehood. You have sent your apprentice to tell me that there was an accident— something had been spilled oa them— thev vvould come the next day—and so on." I have been unnecessarily annoyed ana worried, besides losing much time. There i» no sense in it! Now, wh^t have you brought home Are the shirks here which you have had for a month, and the skirt which was missing last

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"Yes," said Gervaise, altifo&t ir.Audibly "yes, the skirt is here. Look at.it 1" But Madame Goujet cried out in indignation

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"That skirt did not belong to her, and she would not have it. This was the crowning touch, if her things were to be changed in this way. She did qot like other people's things." "And the shirts Where are they Lost, I suppose. Very well, settle it as you please, but thete shirts I must have to-morrow morning

There was a long silence. Gervaise was much disturbed by seeing that the door of Goujet's room was wide open. He was there, she was sure, and listen ins to all these reproaches which she knew to be deserved, and to which she could not reply. She was very quiet and submissive, and laid the linen on the bed as quickly ar. possible.

Madame Goujet began to examine the pieces, Well well!" she said, "no one can praise your washing nowadays. There is hot a piece here that is not dirtied by the iron. Look at this shirt: it is scorched, and the buttons are fairly torn off by the roots. Everything comes back—that come* at all, I would say— with the buttons off. Look at that sacque: the dirt is all in it. No, no, I can't pay for such washing as this

She stopped talking while she counted the pieces. Then she exclaimed "T*o pair of stockings, six towels, frnd ond napkin are missing from this week. You are laughing at me, it seems. Now, just understand, I tell you to bring b$ck all you have, ironed or not ironed. If in an hour your womah is not here with the rest,"I have /done with you, Madame CoupeaiTl"

At this moment Goujet coughed. Gervaise started. How could she bear being t-eated in this way before him? And she stood confused and silent, waiting for the soiled clothes.

V.. THE TERRE HAUTE WEEKiA GAZETTE.

Madame Goujet had taken her place and her work by the window. "And the linen?" said Gervaise titnidly. "Many thanks," said the old wotnan. "There is nothine this week."

Gervaise turned pale it was clear that Madame Goujet meant to take away her custom from her. She sank into a chair. She made no attempt at excuses she only asked a question. .'."Is Monsieur Goujet ill?" "He is not well: at least he has just come in and is lying down to rest a little."

Madame Goujet spoke very slowly, almost solemnlv, her pale face encircled by her white cap, and wearing, as usual, her plain, black dress.

And she explained that they were obliged to economize very closely. In future she herself would do their washing. Of course Gervaise mast know that this would not be necessary, had she and her husband paid their debt to her son. But, of course, they should submit they should never think of going to law about it. While fihe spoke of. the debt, her needle moved rapidly to and fro in,,ihe delicate meshes of her work. r* "But," continued Madame Goujet^

tt-if

you were to deny yourself a little, and be careful and prudent, you could soon discharge your debt to us you live too well, you spend too fieely. Were you to give us only ten francs each month—''

She was interrupted by her son, who called impatiently, "Mother! come here, will you?"

When she returned she changed the conversation. Her son had undoubtedly begged her to say no more about this money to Gervaise. In spite of her evident determination to avoid the subject, she returned to it again in about ten minutes. She knew from the beginning just what would happen. She had said so at the time and all end turned out precisely as she had piophesied. The tinworker had drank up the shop, and had left his wife to bear the load by herself. If her son had taken her advice he would never have lent the money. His marriage had fallen through, and he had lost his spirits. She grew very angry aa she spoke, and finally accused Gervaise openly ot having with her husband, deliberately conspired to cheat her simple-heart-: ed son. "Many women," she exclaimed,' "pla3"ed the parts of hypocrites and prudes for years, and were found out at the last!" "Mother mother called Goujet, peremptorily.

She rose, and when she returned, said: "Go in he wants to see you." Gervaise obeyed, leaving the door open behind her. She found the room sweet and fresh-looking like that of a young girl, with its simple pictures and white curtains.

Goujet, crushed by what he had heard from Mamma Coupeau, lay at full length on the bed, with pale face and haggard eyes. •Listen!" he said. "You must.not mind my mother's words, she does not understand. You do not owe me anything."

He staggered to his feet, a»d stood leaning against the bed and looking at her. •Are you ill?" she asked, nervously. •No, not ill," he answered, "but sick at heart. Sick when I remember what you said and see the truth. Leave me. I cannot bear to look at you."

And he waved her away, not angrily, but with great decision. She went out without a word, for she had nothing to say. In the next room she took up her basket and stood still a moment Madame Goujet did not look up, but she said: "Remember, I want my linen at once, and when that is all sent Ijack^o

me,

we,

will settle the account." "Yes," answered Gervaise. And she closed the door, leaving behind her all that sweet order and cleanliness on which she had once placed so high a value. She returned to the shop with her head bowed down, and looking neither to the right nor the left.

Mother Coupeau was sitting by the fire, having left her bed for the first time. Gervaise said nothing to her—not a word of reproach or congratulation. She felt deadly tired—all her bones ached as if she had been beaten. She thought life very hard, and wished that it were over for her. ..-:j

Gervaise soon grew to care for nothing but her three meals per day. T^e shop ran itself one by one her customer* left her. Gervaise shrugged her shoulders half indifferently, half insolently everybody could leave .her^she said: she could always get work. But she was mistaken and soon it becamfe necessary for her to dismiss Madame Putois, keeping no assistant except Augustine, who seemed to grow more and more stupid as time went on. Ruin was fast approaching. Naturally, as indolence and poverty increased, so .did lack of cleanliness. No one would ever have known that pretty blue shop in which Gervaise had formc-ly taken such pride. The windows were unwashed and covered with the mud scattered by the passing carriages. Within it was still more forlorn: the dampness of the steaming linen had ruined the paper every'hing was covered with dust the stove, which once had been kept so bright, was broken and battered. The long ironing-taMe was covered with wine-stains and grease, looking as if it had served a whale garrison. The atmospheie was loaded with a smell of cooking and of sour starch. But Gervaise was unconscious of it. She did not notice the torn and untidy paper,and having ceased to pay any attention to personal cleanliness, was hardly likely to spend her time in scrubbing the areasy floors. She allowed the dust to accumulate over everything, and never lifted a finger to remove it. Her own comfort and tranquility was now her first consideration.

Her debts were increasing, but they had ceased to give her any uneasiness. She was no longer honest or straightforward. She did not care whether she ever paid or not, so long as she got what she' wanted. When one shop refused her more credit, she opened an account next door. She owed something in every shop in. the whole Qaartier. She dared not pass the grocer nor the baker in her own street, and was compelled to make a lengthy circuit each time she went out. The trades-people muttered and grumbled, and some went so far as to call her a thief and a swindler.

Otie evening the man who had sold her the furniture for Lantier's room came in with ngly threats.

Such scenes were unquestionably disagreeable. She trembled for an hour after them, but they never took away her appetite.

It was very stupid of these people, after all, she said to Lantier. How could she pay them if she had no money? And where could she get money? She closed her eves to the inevitable, and would not think of the future. Mamma Coupeau was well again, but the household had been disorganized for more than a year. In summer there was more work brought to the shop—white skirts ana cambric dresses. There were ups and downs, therefore days when there was nothing in the house for supper, and others when the table was loaded.

Mamma Coupeau was seen almost daily, going out with a bundle under her apron, and returning without it and with a radiant face, for the old woman hked the excitement of going to the Mont-de-Piete.

Gervaise was gradually emptying the house—linen and clothes—tools and furniture. In the beginning she took advantage of a good week, io take out what she had pawned the week before, but after a while she ceased to do that, aad sold her tickets. There wa6 only one thing which cost her a pang, and that was selling her clock. She had sworn she would not touch it not unless she was dying of hunger, and when at last she saw her mother-in •'aw carry it away, she dropped into a chair and wept like "a baby. But when the old woman came back with twenty-five francs, and she found she had five francs more than was demanded by the pressing debt, which had caused her to make the sacrifice, she was consoled, and sent out at once for four sous worth ofbrandv. When these two women were on good terms,, they often drank a glass together sitting at the corner of the ironing table.

Mamma Coupeau had a wonderful talent for bringing a glass in the pocket of her apron without spilling a drop. She did not care to have the neighbors know, but, in good truth, the neighbors knew very well, and laughed and sneered as th^ old woman went in and out.

This, as was natural and right, *!n-i creased the prejudice against Gervaise., Every one 6aid that things could not go on much longer, the end was near. I

Amid all this ruin Coupeau thrived' surprisingly. Bad liquor seemed to affect him agreeably. His appetite wa^ good in spite of the amount he_ drank, and he was growing stout"? Lantier, however, shook his head declaring that it was not honesfc flesh, and that he was bloated. Butl Coupeau drank all the more after this.! statement, and was rarely or never sobeern! There-began to be a strange blueish to in his complexion. His spirits never flagged. He laughed at his wife when' she told him of her embarrassments. What did he care so long as she provided him with food to eat and the longer he was idle the more exacting he became in regard to his food,

He was ignorant of his wife's infidelity:' at least so all his friends declared. They believed, moreover, that were he to discover it there would be. great trouble. But Madame Lerat, his own sister, shook her head doubtfully, averring that 6he was not so sure of his ignorance.

Lantier was also in good health and spirits, neither too stout nor too thin. He wished to remain just where he was, for he was thoroughly well satisfied with himself, and this made him critical in regard to his food, as he had made a study of the things he should eat and those he should avoid, for the preservation of his figure. Even when there was not a cent he asked for eggs and cutlets nourishing and light things were what he required, he said. He ruled Gervaise with a rod of iron, grumbled and found fault far more than Coupeau ever did. It was a house with two masters, one of whom, cleverer by far than the other, took the best of everything. He skimmed the Coupeaus, as it were, and kept all the cream for himself. He was fond of Nana because hq liked girls better than boys. He tioub'ed himself little about Etienne.

When people came and asked for Coupeau, it was Lantier wffo appeared in his shirt sleeves with the air of the man of fhe house who is needlessly disturbed. He answered for Coupeau said it was one and the same thing.

Gervaise did not find this life always smooth and agreeable. She had no reason to complain of her health. She had become very si out. But it was hard work to provide for and please those two men. When they came in, furious and out of temper, it was on her that they wreaked their rage. Coupeau abused her frightfully, and called her by the coarsest epithets. Lantier, on the contrary, was more select in his phraseology, but his words cut her quite as deeply. Fortunatelv, people become accustomed to almost everything in this world and Gervaise soon ceased to care for the reproaches and injustices of these two men. She even preferred to have them out of temper with her, for then they let her alone in some degree but when they were in good humor they were all the time at her heels, and she could not find a leisure moment e\en to iron a cap, so constant were the demands they made upon her. They wanted her to do this, and that to cook little dishes for them, and wait upon them by inches.

One night she dreamed she was at the bottom of a well, Coupeau wa6 pushing her down with his fists, and Lantier was tickling her to make her jump out quicker. And this she thought was a very fair picture of her lite! She said that the people of the Quartier were very unjust after all, when they reproached her for the way of life into which she. had fallen. It was not her fault. It was not she who had done it, and a little shiver ran over her as she reflected that perhaps the worst was not yet.

The utter deterioration of her nature was shown by the fact that she neither detested her husband nor Lantier. In a play at the Gaite, she had seen a woman hate her husband, and poison him for the sake of her lover. This she thought very strange and unnatural. Why could not the three have lived together peaceablv? It would have been n^uch more reasonable!

In

spite of her debts, in spite of the shifts to which her increasing poverty condemned her, Gervaise would have considered herself quite well off, but for the exacting selfishness of Coupeau and Lantier.

Toward autumn antier became more

and more disgusted declared he had nothing to live on but potato parings, and that his health was suffering. He was enraged at seeing the house so thoroughly cleared out, and he felt that the day yras not far distant when he must take up his hat and depart. He had become accustomed to his den and he hated to leave it. He was thoroughly provoked that the extravagant habits of Gervaise necessitated this sacrifice on his part. Why could she not have shown more sense? He was sure he didn't know what would become of them. Could they have struggled on six months longer, he could have concluded an affair which would have enabled him to pupport the whoie family in comfort.

One day it camc to pass that there was not a mouthful in the house, not even a radish. Lantier sat by the stove in sombre discontent. Finally he started up and went to call on the Poissons, to whom he suddenly became friendly to a degree. He no longer taunted the police officer, but condescended to admit that the Emperor was a good fellow after all. He showed himself especially civil to Virginie, whom he considered a clever woman, and well able to steer her bark through stormy seas.

Virginie one day happened to say in his presence that she should like to establish herself in some business. He approved the plan, and paid her a succession of adroit compliments on her capabilities, and cited the example of several women he knew, who had made or were making their fortunes in this way.

Virginie had the money, an inheritance from an aunt but she hesitated, for she did not wish to leave the Quartier, and she did not know of any shop she could have. Then Lantier led her to a corner and whispered to her for ten minutes he seemed to be persuading feer to something. They continued to talk together in this way at intervals for several days, seeming to have some secret understanding. S'*'

Lantier all this time was fretting and scolding at the Caupeaus,asking Gervaise what on earth she intended to do, begging her to look thing6 fairly in the face. She owed five or 6ix hundred francs to the trades-people about her. She was behind-hand with the rent, and Marescot, the landlord, threatened to turn her out if she did not pay before the first of January.

The Mont-de-piete had taken everything there was nothing but the nails in the walls left. What did she mean to do?

Gervaise listened to all this at first listlessly, but she grew angry at last and cried out:

ty

Look here I will go away to-mor-row and leave the key in the door. I had rather sleep in the gutter than iive in thi.% way

And I can't say that it would not be a wise thing for you to do answered Lantier, insidiously. I might possibly assist you to find some one to take the lease off ycur hands whenever you really conclude to leave the shop." *1 am ready to leave it at onece!" dfted Gervaise violently. I am sick and tired of it." if

Then Lantier became serious and business-like. He spoke openly of Vir ginie, who, he 6aid, was looking for a shop in fact he now remembered having heard her 6ay that she should like ju6t such a one as this.

But Gervaise shrank back, and grew strangely calm at this name of Virginie. She would see, she said on the whole she must have time to think. People said a great many things when they were angry, which on reflection were found not to be advisable.

Lantier rang the changes on this sub ject for nearly a week but Gervaise said she had decided to employ some women and go to work again, and if she were not able to get back her old customers she could try for new ones. She said this to show Lantier that she was not so utterly downcast and crushed as he had seemed to take for granted wa's the case.

He wa3 reckless enough to drop the name of Virginie once more, and she turned upon him in rage. "No, no. never!" She had always distrusted Virginie, and if she wanted) the shop it was only to humiliate her. Any other woman might hare it, but not this hypocrite, who had been waiting for years to gloat over her downfall. No, she understood now only too well the meaning of the yellow sparks in her cat's-eyes. It was clear to her that Virginie had never forgotten the scene in the Lavatory, and if she did not look out there would be a repetition of it.

Lantier stood aghast at this anger, and this torrent of words, but presently he plucked up courage and bade her hold her tongue, and told her she should not talk of his friends in that way. As for himself he was sick and tired of other peoples affairs, in future he should let them all take care of themselves, without a word of counsel from him.

January arrived, colu and damp. Mamma CouDean took to her bed with a violent cold which she expected each year at this time. But those about said she would never leave the house again, except feet first.

Her children had learned to look forward to death as a happy deliverance for all. The physician who came once was not sent for again. A little tisane was given her from time to time, that she might not feel herself utterly neglected. She was just alive, that was all. It now became a mere question of time with her but her brain was clear still, and the expression of her eyes there were many things to be read—sorrow at seeing no 6orrow in those she left behind her, and anger against Nana, who was utterly indifferent to her.

On Monday evening Coupeau came in, as tipsy as usual, and threw himself on the bed, all dressed. Gervaise intended to remain with her mother-in-law part of the night, but Nana was very brave, and said she should hear if her grandmother moved and wanted anything.

About half-past three Gervaise woke with a start it seemed to her that a cold blast had swept through the room. Her candle had burned down, and she hastily wrapped a shawl around her with trembling hands, and hurried into the*next room. Nana was sleeping quietly, and her grandmother was dead in the -bed at her side,

Gervaise went to Lantier and .^yaked him. "She is dead," she said. "Well! what of it?" he muttered, half asleep. "Why don't you

sleeo?"

go

to

She turned away in silence, while he grumbled at her coming to disturb him, by the intelligence of a death in the house.

Gervaise drested herself, not without tears, for she really loved the cross old woman whose son lay in the heavy slum~ bers of intoxication.

When she went back to the room, she found Nana sitting up and rubbing her eyes. The child realized what had come to pass, and trembled nervously in the face of this death of which she had thought much in the latt two days, as of something which was hidden from children. »:K "Get up!" said her mother, in a low voice. "I do not wish'you to siay here." "The child slipped from her bed slowly and regretfully, with her eyes fixed on the dead body of her grandmother.

Gervaise did not know what to do with her, nor where to send her. At that moment Lantier appeared at the doof. He had dressed himself, impelled by a little shame at his own conduct. "Let the child go into my room," he said, "and I will help you."

Nana looked first at her mother and then at Lantier. and then trotted with her little bare feet into the next room and slipped into the bed that was still warm.

She lay there wide awake, with blazing cheeks and eyes, and seemed absorbed in thought.

While Lantier and Gervaise were silently occupied with the dead, Coupeau lay and Bnored.

Gervaise hunted in a bureau to find a little crucifix which she had brought from Plassans,when she suddenly remembered that Mamma Coupeau had sold it. They each took a glass of wine, and sat by the stove until daylight.

About seven o'clock Coupeau woke. When he heard what had happened, he declared they were jesting. But when he saw the body he fell on his knees and wept like a baby. Gervaise was touched by these tears, and found her heart softer toward her husband than it had been for many along year. "Courage, old friend!" said Lantier, pouring out a glass of wine as he spoke.

Coupeau took some wine, but he conitnued to weep, and Lantier went off under pretext of informing the family, but he did not hurry. He walked along slowly, smoking a cigar, and after he had been to Madame Lerat's, he stopped in at a cremerie to take a cup of coffee, and there he sat for an hour or more in deep thought.

Bv nine o'clock the family were assembled in the shop, whose shutters had not beeen taken down. Lorilleux only remained for a few moments, and then went back to his shop. Madame Lorilleux shed a few tears, and then sent Nana to buy a pound of candles. "How like Gervaise she murmured. "She can do nothing in a proper, way!"

Madame Lerat went about among the neighbors to borrow a crucifix. She brought One so large that when it was laid on the breast of Mamma Coupeau the weight seemed to crush her. $

Then some one said something about holy water, so Nana was sent to the church with a bottle. The room assumed a new aspect. On a small table burned a candle, .near it a glass of holy water in which was a branch of box. "Everything is in order," murmured the sisters "peoplecan come now as soon as they please."

Lantier made his appearance about eleven. He had been to make inquiries in regard to funeral expenses.

1

"The coffin," he said, "is twelve francs, and if you want a mass, ten francs more. A hearse is paid for, according to its ornaments." "You must remember," said Madame Lorilleux, with compressed lips, "that Marnma must be buried according to her purse." "Precisely answered Lantier. "I only tell you this as your guide. Decide what you" want, and after breakfast I will go and attend to it all."

He spoke in a low voice, oppressed by the presence of the dead. The children weie laughine in the court-yard. and Nana singing loudly.

Gervaise said, gently "We are not rich, to be sure, but we wisn to do what she would have liked, If Mamma Coupeau has left us nothing, it was not her fault, and no reason why we should bury her as if she were a dofj. No, there must be a Mass_ and a hearse." "And who will pay for it asked Madame Lorilleux.. "We can't, for we lost much money last week, and I atu quite sure you would find it hard work*"

Coupeau, when he was consulted, shrugged his shoulders with a gesture of profound indifference. Madame Lerat said she would pay her share. "There are three of us," said Gervaise, after a long calculation "if we each pay thirty francs we can do it with decency."

But Madame Lorilleux burst out furiously "I will never consent to such folly. It is not that 1 care for the money, but I disapprove of the ostentation. You can do as you please." "Very well," replied Gervaise, "I will. I have taken care of your mother while she was living, 1 can bury her now that she is dead."

Then Madame Lorilleux fell to crvitig, and Lantier had great trouble in preventing her from going away at once, and the quarrel grow so violent, that Mad* ame Lerat hastily closed the door of the room where the dead woman lay, as if she feared the noise would awaken her. The children's voices rose shrill in the air with Nana's perpetual "Tra-la-la" above all the rest. "Heavens! how wearisome those children are with their songs," said Lantier. "Tell them to be quiet, and make Nana come in and sit down.'*

Gervaise obeyed these dictatorial orders, while her sisters-in-law went home to breakfast, while the Coupeaus tried to eat, but they were made uncomfortable by the presence of Death in their crowded quarters. The details of their daily life were disarranged.

Gervaise went to Goujet and borrowed sixty francs, which added to the thirty from Madame Lerat would pay the expenses of the funeral. In the afternoon several persons came in and looked as the dead woman, crossing themselves at they did so. and shaking Holy Water over the body with the branch of the box. Then they took their seats in the shop, and talked of the poor thing and her many virtues. One said tnat she had talked with her only three days before,

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