The guests were standing round the table with very long faces. The zinc-worker shook hands with them, showing himself off before the ladies. Gervaise, feeling rather depressed, spoke in a low voice as she directed them to their places. But she suddenly noticed that, as Madame Goujet had not come, a seat would remain empty—the one next to Madame Lorilleux. “We are thirteen!” said she, deeply affected, seeing in that a fresh omen of the misfortune with which she had felt herself threatened for some time past. The ladies already seated rose up looking anxious and annoyed. Madame Putois offered to retire because according to her it was not a matter to laugh about; besides she would not touch a thing, the food would do her no good. As to Boche, he chuckled. He would sooner be thirteen than fourteen; the portions would be larger, that was all. “Wait!” resumed Gervaise. “I can manage it.” And going out on to the pavement she called Pere Bru who was just then crossing the roadway. The old workman entered, stooping and stiff and his face without expression. “Seat yourself there, my good fellow,” said the laundress. “You won’t mind eating with us, will you?” He simply nodded his head. He was willing; he did not mind. “As well him as another,” continued she, lowering her voice. “He doesn’t often eat his fill. He will at least enjoy himself once more. We shall feel no remorse in stuffing ourselves now.” This touched Goujet so deeply that his eyes filled with tears. The others were also moved by compassion and said that it would bring them all good luck. However, Madame Lorilleux seemed unhappy at having the old man next to her. She cast glances of disgust at his work-roughened hands and his faded, patched smock, and drew away from him. Pere Bru sat with his head bowed, waiting. He was bothered by the napkin that was on the plate before him. Finally he lifted it off and placed it gently on the edge of the table, not thinking to spread it over his knees. Now at last Gervaise served the vermicelli soup; the guests were taking up their spoons when Virginie remarked that Coupeau had disappeared. He had perhaps returned to Pere Colombe’s. This time the company got angry. So much the worse! One would not run after him; he could stay in the street if he was not hungry; and as the spoons touched the bottom of the plates, Coupeau reappeared with two pots of flowers, one under each arm, a stock and a balsam. They all clapped their hands. He gallantly placed the pots, one on the right, the other on the left of Gervaise’s glass; then bending over and kissing her, he said: “I had forgotten you, my lamb. But in spite of that, we love each other all the same, especially on such a day as this.” “Monsieur Coupeau’s very nice this evening,” murmured Clemence in Boche’s ear. “He’s just got what he required, sufficient to make him amiable.”