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Updated: May 24, 2025
The man terrified her; his incessant laughter dismayed her. She talked of moving but at the same time was reluctant to do so, for there was a strange fascination about Bazonge after all. Had he not told her once that he would come for her and lay her down to sleep in the shadow of waving branches, where she would know neither hunger nor toil? She wished she could try it for a month.
"Do hold your tongue," said Lorilleux; "this is no time for such talk. Be off with you!" The clock struck ten. The friends and neighbors had assembled in the shop while the family were in the back room, nervous and feverish with suspense. Four men appeared the undertaker, Bazonge and his three assistants placed the body in the coffin.
Bazonge had come in that night more tipsy than usual and had thrown his hat and cloak in the corner, while he lay in the middle of the floor. He started up and called out: "Shut that door! And don't stand there it is too cold. What do you want?" Then Gervaise, with arms outstretched, not knowing or caring what she said, began to entreat him with passionate vehemence: "Oh, take me!" she cried.
Apparently even Mother Earth would have none of her. She tried several times to throw herself out of the window, but death took her by bits, as it were. In fact, no one knew exactly when she died or exactly what she died of. They spoke of cold and hunger. But the truth was she died of utter weariness of life, and Father Bazonge came the day she was found dead in her den.
They walked on in silence until they reached the Hotel Boncoeur, and just as Coupeau gave the two women a push toward each other and bade them kiss and be friends, a man who wished to pass them on the right gave a violent lurch to the left and came between them. "Look out!" cried Lorilleux. "It is Father Bazonge. He is pretty full tonight." Gervaise, in great terror, flew toward the door.
"What is the matter?" repeated Bazonge. "Can I serve you in any way, madame?" "No! No! It is nothing!" answered the laundress in a choked voice. "I am very much obliged." While the undertaker slept she lay wide awake, holding her breath and not daring to move, lest he should think she called him again.
"I can bear it no longer. Take me, I implore you!" And she knelt before him, a lurid light blazing in her haggard eyes. Father Bazonge, with garments stained by the dust of the cemetery, seemed to her as glorious as the sun. But the old man, yet half asleep, rubbed his eyes and could not understand her. "What are you talking about?" he muttered.
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