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Augustine was dawdling with the stockings and washcloths, gazing into the air, seemingly fascinated by a large fly that was buzzing around. Clemence had done thirty-four men's shirts so far that day. "Always wine, never spirits!" suddenly said the zinc-worker, who felt the necessity of making this declaration. "Spirits make me drunk, I'll have none of them."
They were in his way; he could not get near the counter without stumbling against them. It was too absurd; he would go to Bourguignon's on the morrow. The other four, who were quarrelling about the question of salaries, were not at all surprised when the zinc-worker, without any explanation, proposed a little stroll on the Boulevard, just to stretch their legs. They didn't go very far.
He did not care a button for the people of the neighborhood! Nothing elaborate, just a short walk and a rabbit ragout in the first eating-house they fancied. No music with dessert. Just a glass or two and then back home. The zinc-worker, chaffing and joking, at length got the young woman to consent by promising her that there should be no larks.
"By Jove!" said the zinc-worker as he reached the first floor, smiling, "there's a strong smell of onion soup. Someone's having onion soup, I'm sure." Staircase B, with its gray, dirty steps and hand-rail, its scratched walls and chipped plaster, was full of strong kitchen odors. Long corridors, echoing with noise, led away from each landing.
Coupeau offered his services. Mon Dieu! it was very simple. You caught hold of the limbs, and pulled them off; the pieces were good all the same. But the others protested; they forcibly took possession of the large kitchen knife which the zinc-worker already held in his hand, saying that whenever he carved he made a regular graveyard of the platter.
At length they reached a small passage in complete darkness. "We're here," resumed the zinc-worker. "Be careful, keep to the wall; there are three steps." And Gervaise carefully took another ten steps in the obscurity. She stumbled and then counted the three steps. But at the end of the passage Coupeau had opened a door, without knocking. A brilliant light spread over the tiled floor.
"It's us!" cried Coupeau advancing as far as the woolen curtain. But no one answered at first. Gervaise, deeply affected, moved especially by the thought that she was about to enter a place full of gold, stood behind the zinc-worker, stammering and venturing upon nods of her head by way of bowing.
"They're always delivered like that, in their rough state," the zinc-worker explained. "The polishers rub them afterwards with cloths." Gervaise felt her courage failing her. The heat, more and more intense, was suffocating her. They kept the door shut, because Lorilleux caught cold from the least draught.
He was already on the pavement when the zinc-worker called him back to make him promise never to pass the door without looking in to wish them good day. Meanwhile Gervaise, who had quietly disappeared, returned pushing Etienne before her. The child, who was in his shirt-sleeves and half asleep, smiled as he rubbed his eyes.
He did not answer, and she repeated, in a tone of despairing agony: "Is that all I get from you?" "Mon Dieu! I've no coin," he roared, turning round in a fury. "Just leave me alone, eh? Or else I'll hit you." He was already raising his fist. She drew back, and seemed to make up her mind. "All right, I'll leave you. I guess I can find a man." The zinc-worker laughed at this.
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