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Updated: June 25, 2025
He was still yawning; he had slept eighteen hours at a stretch. He was, moreover, quite sobered, with a stupid look on his face, and his jacket smothered with fluff; for he had no doubt tumbled into bed with his clothes on. "And you don't know where my husband is, sir?" asked the laundress. "Well, no, not a bit. It was five o'clock when we left mother Baquet's. That's all I know about it.
Several persons, however, stated that they had seen him at mother Baquet's, at the "Butterfly," and at the "Little Old Man with a Cough." Only some said that he was alone, whilst others affirmed that he was in the company of seven or eight drunkards like himself. Gervaise shrugged her shoulders in a resigned sort of way. Mon Dieu! She just had to get used to it.
Had that animal Coupeau gone to the Arc de Triomphe to get his dram? They had already done the upper part of the street, looking in at all the likely places; at the "Little Civet," renowned for its preserved plums; at old mother Baquet's, who sold Orleans wine at eight sous; at the "Butterfly," the coachmen's house of call, gentlemen who were not easy to please. But no Coupeau.
Where's Coupeau?" inquired the hatter, looking about. "Have you, then, lost Coupeau?" "Oh! long ago, since yesterday," replied the other. "There was a bit of a free-for-all on leaving mother Baquet's. I don't care for fisticuffs. We had a row, you know, with mother Baquet's pot-boy, because he wanted to make us pay for a quart twice over. Then I left. I went and had a bit of a snooze."
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