The saint’s day happened to fall on a Monday. It was a piece of luck. Gervaise counted on the Sunday afternoon to begin the cooking. On the Saturday, whilst the workwomen hurried with their work, there was a long discussion in the shop with the view of finally deciding upon what the feast should consist of. For three weeks past one thing alone had been chosen—a fat roast goose. There was a gluttonous look on every face whenever it was mentioned. The goose was even already bought. Mother Coupeau went and fetched it to let Clemence and Madame Putois feel its weight. And they uttered all kinds of exclamations; it looked such an enormous bird, with its rough skin all swelled out with yellow fat. “Before that there will be the pot-au-feu,” said Gervaise, “the soup and just a small piece of boiled beef, it’s always good. Then we must have something in the way of a stew.” Tall Clemence suggested rabbit, but they were always having that, everyone was sick of it. Gervaise wanted something more distinguished. Madame Putois having spoken of stewed veal, they looked at one another with broad smiles. It was a real idea, nothing would make a better impression than a veal stew. “And after that,” resumed Gervaise, “we must have some other dish with a sauce.” Mother Coupeau proposed fish. But the others made a grimace, as they banged down their irons. None of them liked fish; it was not a bit satisfying; and besides that it was full of bones. Squint-eyed Augustine, having dared to observe that she liked skate, Clemence shut her mouth for her with a good sound clout. At length the mistress thought of stewed pig’s back and potatoes, which restored the smiles to every countenance. Then Virginie entered like a puff of wind, with a strange look on her face. “You’ve come just at the right time!” exclaimed Gervaise. “Mother Coupeau, do show her the bird.” And mother Coupeau went a second time and fetched the goose, which Virginie had to take in her hands. She uttered no end of exclamations. By Jove! It was heavy! But she soon laid it down on the work-table, between a petticoat and a bundle of shirts. Her thoughts were elsewhere. She dragged Gervaise into the back-room. “I say, little one,” murmured she rapidly, “I’ve come to warn you. You’ll never guess who I just met at the corner of the street. Lantier, my dear! He’s hovering about on the watch; so I hastened here at once. It frightened me on your account, you know.”