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Mme Maloir, a respectable-looking and mannerly woman, was Nana's old friend, chaperon and companion. Mme Lerat's presence seemed to fidget her at first. Afterward, when she became aware that it was Nana's aunt, she looked at her with a sweet expression and a die-away smile.
Gervaise was touched by these tears and found her heart softer toward her husband than it had been for many a long year. "Courage, old friend!" said Lantier, pouring out a glass of wine as he spoke. He walked along slowly, smoking a cigar, and after he had been to Mme Lerat's he stopped in at a cremerie to take a cup of coffee, and there he sat for an hour or more in deep thought.
The singing ceased, and the conversation turned upon a woman who had hanged herself the day before in the next street. It was now Mme Lerat's turn to amuse the company, but she needed to make certain preparations. She dipped the corner of her napkin into a glass of water and applied it to her temples because she was too warm. Then she asked for a teaspoonful of brandy and wiped her lips.
The offering brought by Boche was a pot of pansies, and his wife's was mignonette; Mme Lerat's, a lemon verbena. The three furnaces filled the room with an overpowering heat, and the frying potatoes drowned their voices. Gervaise was very sweet and smiling, thanking everyone for the flowers, at the same time making the dressing for the salad.
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