He poured him out a glass of wine, but Coupeau refused to drink.
“What’s the matter with me? I’ve got copper in my throat. It’s mamma. When I saw her I got a taste of copper in my mouth. Mamma! Mon Dieu! mamma, mamma!”
And he recommenced crying like a child. Then he drank the glass of wine, hoping to put out the flame searing his breast. Lantier soon left, using the excuse of informing the family and filing the necessary declaration at the town hall. Really though, he felt the need of fresh air, and so he took his time, smoking cigarettes and enjoying the morning air. When he left Madame Lerat’s house, he went into a dairy place on Les Batignolles for a cup of hot coffee and remained there an hour, thinking things over.
Towards nine o’clock the family were all united in the shop, the shutters of which were kept up. Lorilleux did not cry. Moreover he had some pressing work to attend to, and he returned almost directly to his room, after having stalked about with a face put on for the occasion. Madame Lorilleux and Madame Lerat embraced the Coupeaus and wiped their eyes, from which a few tears were falling. But Madame Lorilleux, after giving a hasty glance round the death chamber, suddenly raised her voice to say that it was unheard of, that one never left a lighted lamp beside a corpse; there should be a candle, and Nana was sent to purchase a packet of tall ones. Ah, well! It made one long to die at Clump-clump’s, she laid one out in such a fine fashion! What a fool, not even to know what to do with a corpse! Had she then never buried anyone in her life? Madame Lerat had to go to the neighbors and borrow a crucifix; she brought one back which was too big, a cross of black wood with a Christ in painted cardboard fastened to it, which covered the whole of mother Coupeau’s chest, and seemed to crush her under its weight. Then they tried to obtain some holy water, but no one had any, and it was again Nana who was sent to the church to bring some back in a bottle. In practically no time the tiny room presented quite another appearance; on a little table a candle was burning beside a glass full of holy water into which a sprig of boxwood was dipped. Now, if anyone came, it would at least look decent. And they arranged the chairs in a circle in the shop for receiving people.
Lantier only returned at eleven o’clock. He had been to the undertaker’s for information.
“The coffin is twelve francs,” said he. “If you desire a mass, it will be ten francs more. Then there’s the hearse, which is charged for according to the ornaments.”
“Oh! it’s quite unnecessary to be fancy,” murmured Madame Lorilleux, raising her head in a surprised and anxious manner. “We can’t bring mamma to life again, can we? One must do according to one’s means.”
“Of course, that’s just what I think,” resumed the hatter. “I merely asked the prices to guide you. Tell me what you desire; and after lunch I will give the orders.”
They were talking in lowered voices. Only a dim light came into the room through the cracks in the shutters. The door to the little room stood half open, and from it came the deep silence of death. Children’s laughter echoed in the courtyard. Suddenly they heard the voice of Nana, who had escaped from the Boches to whom she had been sent. She was giving commands in her shrill voice and the children were singing a song about a donkey.
Gervaise waited until it was quiet to say: