"You think your husband ought to have been with you, madame. But don't be troubled; he is busy with politics. He went on like a mad man the other day when they were voting for Eugène Sue. Perhaps he passed the night with his friends abusing that reprobate Bonaparte." "No, no," she murmured with an effort. "You think nothing of that kind. I know where Lantier is only too well. We have our sorrows like the rest of the world!" Coupeau gave a knowing wink and departed, having offered to bring her some milk if she did not care to go out; she was a good woman, he told her and might count on him any time when she was in trouble. As soon as Gervaise was alone she returned to the window. From the Barriere the lowing of the cattle and the bleating of the sheep still came on the keen, fresh morning air. Among the crowd she recognized the locksmiths by their blue frocks, the masons by their white overalls, the painters by their coats, from under which hung their blouses. This crowd was cheerless. All of neutral tints--grays and blues predominating, with never a dash of color. Occasionally a workman stopped and lighted his pipe, while his companions passed on. There was no laughing, no talking, but they strode on steadily with cadaverous faces toward that Paris which quickly swallowed them up. At the two corners of La Rue des Poissonniers were two wineshops, where the shutters had just been taken down. Here some of the workmen lingered, crowding into the shop, spitting, coughing and drinking glasses of brandy and water. Gervaise was watching the place on the left of the street, where she thought she had seen Lantier go in, when a stout woman, bareheaded and wearing a large apron, called to her from the pavement, "You are up early, Madame Lantier!" Gervaise leaned out. "Ah, is it you, Madame Boche! Yes, I am up early, for I have much to do today." "Is that so? Well, things don't get done by themselves, that's sure!" And a conversation ensued between the window and the sidewalk. Mme Boche was the concierge of the house wherein the restaurant Veau a Deux Tetes occupied the _rez-de-chaussee_. Many times Gervaise had waited for Lantier in the room of this woman rather than face the men who were eating. The concierge said she had just been round the corner to arouse a lazy fellow who had promised to do some work and then went on to speak of one of her lodgers who had come in the night before with some woman and had made such a noise that every one was disturbed until after three o'clock. As she gabbled, however, she examined Gervaise with considerable curiosity and seemed, in fact, to have come out under the window for that express purpose. "Is Monsieur Lantier still asleep?" she asked suddenly. "Yes, he is asleep," answered Gervaise with flushing cheeks. Madame saw the tears come to her eyes and, satisfied with her discovery, was turning away when she suddenly stopped and called out: