Another time, when taunted by the old woman, she went still further and declared that Lantier was as much her husband as was Coupeau--that he was the father of two of her children. She talked a little twaddle about the laws of nature, and a shrewd observer would have seen that she--parrotlike--was repeating the words that some other person had put into her mouth. Besides, what were her neighbors doing all about her? They were not so extremely respectable that they had the right to attack her. And then she took house after house and showed her mother-in-law that while apparently so deaf to gossip she yet knew all that was going on about her. Yes, she knew--and now seemed to gloat over that which once had shocked and revolted her. "It is none of my business, I admit," she cried; "let each person live as he pleases, according to his own light, and let everybody else alone." One day when Mamma Coupeau spoke out more clearly she said with compressed lips: "Now look here, you are flat on your back and you take advantage of that fact. I have never said a word to you about your own life, but I know it all the same--and it was atrocious! That is all! I am not going into particulars, but remember, you had best not sit in judgment on me!" The old woman was nearly suffocated with rage and her cough. The next day Goujet came for his mother's wash while Gervaise was out. Mamma Coupeau called him into her room and kept him for an hour. She read the young man's heart; she knew that his suspicions made him miserable. And in revenge for something that had displeased her she told him the truth with many sighs and tears, as if her daughter-in-law's infamous conduct was a bitter blow to her. When Goujet left her room he was deadly pale and looked ten years older than when he went in. The old woman had, too, the additional pleasure of telling Gervaise on her return that Mme Goujet had sent word that her linen must be returned to her at once, ironed or unironed. And she was so animated and comparatively amiable that Gervaise scented the truth and knew instinctively what she had done and what she was to expect with Goujet. Pale and trembling, she piled the linen neatly in a basket and set forth to see Mme Goujet. Years had passed since she had paid her friends one penny. The debt still stood at four hundred and twenty-five francs. Each time she took the money for her washing she spoke of being pressed just at that time. It was a great mortification for her. Coupeau was, however, less scrupulous and said with a laugh that if she kissed her friend occasionally in the corner it would keep things straight and pay him well. Then Gervaise, with eyes blazing with indignation, would ask if he really meant that. Had he fallen so low? Nor should he speak of Goujet in that way in her presence. Every time she took home the linen of these former friends she ascended the stairs with a sick heart.