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Too bad he was a noble. "Listen to this now," continued Lantier. "Here's some society news: 'A marriage is arranged between the eldest daughter of the Countess de Bretigny and the young Baron de Valancay, aide-de-camp to His Majesty. The wedding trousseau will contain more than three hundred thousand francs' worth of lace." "What's that to us?" interrupted Bibi-the-Smoker.
Gervaise walked in front with Lorilleux, who gave her his arm; whilst Monsieur Madinier followed with mother Coupeau. Then, twenty steps behind on the opposite side of the way, came Coupeau, Boche, and Bibi-the-Smoker. These three were in black frock coats, walking erect and swinging their arms. Boche's trousers were bright yellow.
She looked at him fixedly, in a grave manner, a wrinkle marking her forehead with a black line. And she slowly replied: "Why, you're right, it's a good idea. That way, we can drink up the coin together." Bibi-the-Smoker rose from his seat to fetch her a glass of anisette. She drew her chair up to the table.
He was behind Gervaise, with his arm around her waist, and felt that she was everything perfect to him. When they suddenly emerged again into the daylight, he was just in the act of kissing her on the cheek. "Well! You're a nice couple; you don't stand on ceremony," said Madame Lorilleux with a scandalized air. Bibi-the-Smoker pretended to be furious. He muttered between his teeth.
"Are you down in the dumps, old bloke?" "No, no," replied the comrade, stretching his arm. "It's the employers who disgust me. I sent mine to the right about yesterday. They're all toads and scoundrels." Bibi-the-Smoker accepted a plum. He was, no doubt, waiting there on that bench for someone to stand him a drink.
She must have swallowed something!" The entire wedding procession burst into laughter. Bibi-the-Smoker turned around and laughed. Madame Gaudron laughed the most of all. She wasn't ashamed as she thought more than one of the women watching had looked at her with envy. They turned into the Rue de Clery. Then they took the Rue du Mail. On reaching the Place des Victoires, there was a halt.
Madame Lerat showed Bibi-the-Smoker how to make a rose by rolling the handle of her knife between her bony fingers. All the while, their voices had been rising louder and louder, competing for attention. Shrill comments by Madame Fauconnier were heard.
Now you must reside in a place for two years. Three millions of citizens are struck off the voting lists. I've been told that Bonaparte is, in reality, very much annoyed for he loves the people; he has given them proofs." He was a republican; but he admired the prince on account of his uncle, a man the like of whom would never be seen again. Bibi-the-Smoker flew into a passion.
Coupeau, with his zinc-worker's bag slung over his shoulder, walked along in the imposing manner of a fellow who feels in good form for a change. He turned round and asked: "Bibi, do you want a job. The boss told me to bring a pal if I could." "No thanks," answered Bibi-the-Smoker; "I'm purging myself. You should ask My-Boots. He was looking for something yesterday. Wait a minute.
"Say there, old Borgia," he called to Pere Colombe, "give us some of your yellow stuff, first class mule's wine." And when Pere Colombe, pale and quiet in his blue-knitted waistcoat, had filled the four glasses, these gentlemen tossed them off, so as not to let the liquor get flat. "That does some good when it goes down," murmured Bibi-the-Smoker. The comic My-Boots had a story to tell.