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Updated: September 4, 2025
The one precious gift she had to give Michael, that lover of all beauty! . . . The knowledge seemed to beat against her brain, throbbing and pulsing like a wound, while she made a pretence at doing justice to the little dinner party, which had been especially concocted for her under Virginie's watchful eye, and responded in some sort to Coppertop's periodic outbreaks of jubilation over her return.
They were speaking of Lantier. Gervaise had never seen him again; she supposed him to be living with Virginie's sister, with a friend who was about to start a manufactory for hats. At first she thought of committing suicide, of drowning herself, but she had grown more reasonable and had really begun to trust that things were all for the best.
She immediately put on her wig, dressed herself and went to Virginie's house. Virginie, whose plebeian soul was readily moved, was weeping copiously amid her cabbages, carrots and onions. They feared some accident had befallen him. What could it be?
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