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Mother Coupeau's candle had again gone out; and as, in the obscurity, the dull trickling sound recommenced, Madame Lorilleux gave the explanation of it anew in a loud voice, so as to reassure herself: "She's emptying," repeated she, lighting another candle. The funeral was to take place at half-past ten. A nice morning to add to the night and the day before!
Coupeau's life was a very regular one that is to say, he did not drink for six months and then yielded to temptation, which brought him up with a round turn and sent him to Sainte-Anne's. When he came out he did the same thing, so that in three years he was seven times at Sainte-Anne's, and each time he came out the fellow looked more broken and less able to stand another orgy.
She did not like to think such an unkind thing, but, really, the Lorilleuxs now seemed to be very pleased at Coupeau's accident, as it prevented her setting up as a laundress in the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or. Then she also wished to laugh, and show them how willingly she parted with the money for the sake of curing her husband.
A brandied plum occasionally could not hurt, but as for cheap brandy, absinthe and the other strong stuff, no, not for him, no matter how much his comrades teased him about it. He stayed out on the sidewalk when his friends went into low establishments. Coupeau's father had smashed his head open one day when he fell from the eaves of No. 25 on Rue Coquenard. He was drunk.
Coupeau's mother, however, had sobbed and wailed, threatening to go ahead of them and hide herself in some corner of the church, until they had promised to take her along. The meeting of the guests was set for one o'clock at the Silver Windmill. From there, they would go to Saint-Denis, going out by railroad and returning on foot along the highway in order to work up an appetite.
He had nothing left because it had all gone into his stomach. Madame Boche suggested to Gervaise that she go to wait for him at the shop exit. This rarely worked though, because Coupeau's comrades would warn him and the money would disappear into his shoe or someone else's pocket. Yes, it was their own fault if every season found them lower and lower.
A regular landlord; with clean linen and swell shoes! They were no common stuff! His wife, at all events, knew how to keep the pot boiling! The two men walked towards the outer Boulevard, and Gervaise followed them. After a pause, she resumed, talking behind Coupeau's back: "I'm hungry; you know, I relied on you. You must find me something to nibble."
Mother Coupeau's disclosures and the things his mother had been saying seemed to have knocked all the life out of his limbs. His eyes were red and swollen, his beautiful yellow beard was still wet. In the first moment of rage he must have punched away at his pillow with his terrible fists, for the ticking was split and the feathers were coming out.
If she was not continually thinking of it aloud, it was for fear she should be suspected of regretting the savings swallowed up by Coupeau's illness. She often became quite pale, having almost allowed her desire to escape her and catching back her words, quite confused as though she had been thinking of something wicked.
Oh, he may fool around with the women in the shop, but it doesn't lead to anything. Clemence, you mustn't feel insulted. You know how it is when a man's had too much to drink. He could do anything and not even remember it." She spoke composedly, not at all angry, being quite used to Coupeau's sprees and not holding them against him. A silence settled down for a while when she stopped talking.
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