“What do you mean, you saw her?”
“Oh, in the street here,” answered the hatter, who felt highly flattered, and began to laugh and twirl his moustaches. “She was in a carriage and I was floundering on the pavement. Really it was so, I swear it! There’s no use denying it, the young fellows of position who are on friendly terms with her are terribly lucky!”
His eyes had brightened and he turned towards Gervaise who was standing in the rear of the shop wiping a dish.
“Yes, she was in a carriage, and wore such a stylish dress! I didn’t recognise her, she looked so much like a lady of the upper set, with her white teeth and her face as fresh as a flower. It was she who waved her glove to me. She has caught a count, I believe. Oh! she’s launched for good. She can afford to do without any of us; she’s head over heels in happiness, the little beggar! What a love of a little kitten! No, you’ve no idea what a little kitten she is!”
Gervaise was still wiping the same plate, although it had long since been clean and shiny. Virginie was reflecting, anxious about a couple of bills which fell due on the morrow and which she didn’t know how to pay; whilst Lantier, stout and fat, perspiring the sugar he fed off, ventured his enthusiasm for well-dressed little hussies. The shop, which was already three parts eaten up, smelt of ruin. Yes, there were only a few more burnt almonds to nibble, a little more barley-sugar to suck, to clean the Poissons’ business out. Suddenly, on the pavement over the way, he perceived the policeman, who was on duty, pass by all buttoned up with his sword dangling by his side. And this made him all the gayer. He compelled Virginie to look at her husband.
“Dear me,” he muttered, “Badingue looks fine this morning! Just look, see how stiff he walks. He must have stuck a glass eye in his back to surprise people.”
When Gervaise went back upstairs, she found Coupeau seated on the bed, in the torpid state induced by one of his attacks. He was looking at the window-panes with his dim expressionless eyes. She sat herself down on a chair, tired out, her hands hanging beside her dirty skirt; and for a quarter of an hour she remained in front of him without saying a word.
“I’ve had some news,” she muttered at last. “Your daughter’s been seen. Yes, your daughter’s precious stylish and hasn’t any more need of you. She’s awfully happy, she is! Ah! Mon Dieu! I’d give a great deal to be in her place.”
Coupeau was still staring at the window-pane. But suddenly he raised his ravaged face, and stammered with an idiotic laugh:
“Well, my little lamb, I’m not stopping you. You’re not yet so bad looking when you wash yourself. As folks say, however old a pot may be, it ends by finding its lid. And, after all, I wouldn’t care if it only buttered our bread.”