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Updated: June 2, 2025
As Boche leaned toward her and, in a whisper, asked for an explanation, she resumed: "Little onions, why of course. That's quite enough, I think." The general conversation was becoming grave. Each one was talking of his trade. Monsieur Madinier raved about the cardboard business. There were some real artists.
Those napkins belonged to the Goujets, that was evident; they had not been used to wipe out frying-pans. That pillow-case certainly came from the Boches on account of the pomatum with which Madame Boche always smeared her things. There was no need to put your nose close to the flannel vests of Monsieur Madinier; his skin was so oily that it clogged up his woolens.
Monsieur Madinier had to examine her back, but he swore there was nothing to be seen. Two platters of cheese, two dishes of fruit, and a floating island pudding of frosted eggs in a deep salad-bowl had now been placed along the middle of the table. The pudding caused a moment of respectful attention even though the overdone egg whites had flattened on the yellow custard.
"You made such a noise together! I wasn't even able to count the steps." But Monsieur Madinier was already up on the platform, pointing out the different monuments. Neither Madame Fauconnier nor Mademoiselle Remanjou would on any consideration leave the staircase. The thought of the pavement below made their blood curdle, and they contented themselves with glancing out of the little door.
Mme Boche accused her husband of holding Mme Lerat's hand under the table. Madinier talked politics. He was a Republican, and Bibi-la-Grillade and himself were soon in a hot discussion. "Who cares," cried Coupeau, "whether we have a king, an emperor or a president, so long as we earn our five francs per day!" Lorilleux shook his head.
Coupeau's witnesses were to be Monsieur Madinier and Bibi-the-Smoker. They were counting on Lorilleux and Boche for Gervaise's witnesses. They were to go quietly to the mayor's office and the church, just the six of them, without a whole procession of people trailing behind them. The bridegroom's two sisters had even declared that they would stay home, their presence not being necessary.
M. Madinier had proposed nothing; he stood leaning against the counter with a pompous air; he spat upon the ground, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rolled his eyes about. "We could go to the Musee du Louvre, I suppose," and he smoothed his chin while awaiting the effect of this proposition. "There are antiquities there statues, pictures, lots of things. It is very instructive.
The heat in the street is like a slap on the face. You'd think someone was throwing fire at you." Everyone agreed that they knew the storm was coming. It was in the air. Monsieur Madinier said that he had seen it as they were coming out of the church. Lorilleux mentioned that his corns were aching and he hadn't been able to sleep since three in the morning. A storm was due.
The women would have liked to rest, but the men were more energetic and proposed another walk, during which so tremendous a shower fell that umbrellas were useless and dresses were irretrievably ruined. Then M. Madinier suggested that they should ascend the column on the Place Vendome. "It is not a bad idea," cried the men.
Bibi-the-Smoker didn't have a waistcoat so he was buttoned up to the neck with only a bit of his cravat showing. The only one in a full dress suit was Monsieur Madinier and passers-by gazed at this well-dressed gentleman escorting the huge bulk of mother Coupeau in her green shawl and black bonnet with red ribbons.
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