Coupeau ornamented the walls with several engravings--one of a marshal of France on a spirited steed, with his baton in his hand. Above the commode were the photographs of the family, arranged in two lines, with an antique china _benitier_ between. On the corners of the commode a bust of Pascal faced another of Beranger--one grave, the other smiling. It was, indeed, a fair and pleasant home. "How much do you think we pay here?" Gervaise would ask of each new visitor. And when too high an estimate was given she was charmed. "One hundred and fifty francs--not a penny more," she would exclaim. "Is it not wonderful?" No small portion of the woman's satisfaction arose from an acacia which grew in her courtyard, one of whose branches crossed her window, and the scanty foliage was a whole wilderness to her. Her baby was born one afternoon. She would not allow her husband to be sent for, and when he came gaily into the room he was welcomed by his pale wife, who whispered to him as he stooped over her: "My dear, it is a girl." "All right!" said the tinworker, jesting to hide his real emotion. "I ordered a girl. You always do just what I want!" He took up the child. "Let us have a good look at you, young lady! The down on the top of your head is pretty black, I think. Now you must never squall but be as good and reasonable always as your papa and mamma." Gervaise, with a faint smile and sad eyes, looked at her daughter. She shook her head. She would have preferred a boy, because boys run less risks in a place like Paris. The nurse took the baby from the father's hands and told Gervaise she must not talk. Coupeau said he must go and tell his mother and sister the news, but he was famished and must eat something first. His wife was greatly disturbed at seeing him wait upon himself, and she tossed about a little and complained that she could not make him comfortable. "You must be quiet," said the nurse again. "It is lucky you are here, or she would be up and cutting my bread for me," said Coupeau. He finally set forth to announce the news to his family and returned in an hour with them all. The Lorilleuxs, under the influence of the prosperity of their brother and his wife, had become extremely amiable toward them and only lifted their eyebrows in a significant sort of way, as much as to say that they could tell something if they pleased. "You must not talk, you understand," said Coupeau, "but they would come and take a peep at you, and I am going to make them some coffee."