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Updated: May 26, 2025
When in the other room she took up her basket; but she did not go home. She stood there trying to find something to say. Madame Goujet continued her mending without raising her head. It was she who at length said: "Well! Good-night; send me back my things and we will settle up afterwards." "Yes, it will be best so good-night," stammered Gervaise.
And Gervaise accepted. Goujet had told his mother. They crossed the landing, and went to see her at once. The lace-mender was very grave, and looked rather sad as she bent her face over her tambour-frame. She would not thwart her son, but she no longer approved Gervaise's project; and she plainly told her why. Coupeau was going to the bad; Coupeau would swallow up her shop.
He nodded to her so sympathetically that she was reminded of how unhappy she was, and began to cry again as Goujet took his place with the men. The ceremony at the church was soon got through. The mass dragged a little, though, because the priest was very old. My-Boots and Bibi-the-Smoker preferred to remain outside on account of the collection.
She beckoned to Goujet, who was turning the corner. "I want to speak to you," she said timidly. "I want to tell you how ashamed I am for coming to you again to borrow money, but I was at my wit's end." "I am always glad to be of use to you," answered the blacksmith. "But pray never allude to the matter before my mother, for I do not wish to trouble her.
And after that lesson Goujet drank no more liquor, though he conceived no hatred for wine. On Sunday he went out with his mother, who was his idol. He went to her with all his troubles and with all his joys, as he had done when little. At first he took no interest in Gervaise, but after a while he began to like her and treated her like a sister, with abrupt familiarity.
Goujet had stopped before one of the rivet machines. He stood there brooding, his head lowered, his gaze fixed. This machine forged forty millimetre rivets with the calm ease of a giant. Nothing could be simpler. The stoker took the iron shank from the furnace; the striker put it into the socket, where a continuous stream of water cooled it to prevent softening of the steel.
Suddenly an absolute whirlwind struck her and bore her breathless and helpless along she did not even know in what direction. When at last she was able to open her eyes she could see nothing through the blinding snow, but she heard a step and saw the outlines of a man's figure. She snatched him by the blouse. "Sir," she said, "please listen." The man turned. It was Goujet.
"We are all ready," cried Gervaise, reappearing and pulling down her sleeves over her white arms. "Where can Coupeau be?" she continued. "He is always late! He always forgets!" muttered his sister. Gervaise was in despair. Everything would be spoiled. She proposed that someone should go out and look for him. Goujet offered to go, and she said she would accompany him.
Even Goujet, who was ordinarily very sober, had taken plenty of wine. Boche's eyes were narrowing, those of Lorilleux were paling, and Poisson was developing expressions of stern severity on his soldierly face. All the men were as drunk as lords and the ladies had reached a certain point also, feeling so warm that they had to loosen their clothes. Only Clemence carried this a bit too far.
But she, in spite of the relations she had fallen into with Coupeau, would indignantly ask her husband if he already wished to eat of that sort of bread. She would not allow anyone to say a word against Goujet in her presence; her affection for the blacksmith remained like a last shred of her honor.
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