“Well, if _I_ saw her, I should go over to the other side of the street,” interposed Virginie, who had just pinched the hatter again most ferociously. “It isn’t because you are there, Madame Coupeau, but your daughter is rotten to the core. Why, every day Poisson arrests girls who are better than she is.” Gervaise said nothing, nor did she move; her eyes staring into space. She ended by jerking her head to and fro, as if in answer to her thoughts, whilst the hatter, with a gluttonous mien, muttered: “Ah, a man wouldn’t mind getting a bit of indigestion from that sort of rottenness. It’s as tender as chicken.” But the grocer gave him such a terrible look that he had to pause and quiet her with some delicate attention. He watched the policeman, and perceiving that he had his nose lowered over his little box again, he profited of the opportunity to shove some barley-sugar into Virginie’s mouth. Thereupon she laughed at him good-naturedly and turned all her anger against Gervaise. “Just make haste, eh? The work doesn’t do itself while you remain stuck there like a street post. Come, look alive, I don’t want to flounder about in the water till night time.” And she added hatefully in a lower tone: “It isn’t my fault if her daughter’s gone and left her.” No doubt Gervaise did not hear. She had begun to scrub the floor again, with her back bent and dragging herself along with a frog-like motion. She still had to sweep the dirty water out into the gutter, and then do the final rinsing. After a pause, Lantier, who felt bored, raised his voice again: “Do you know, Badingue,” he cried, “I met your boss yesterday in the Rue de Rivoli. He looked awfully down in the mouth. He hasn’t six months’ life left in his body. Ah! after all, with the life he leads—” He was talking about the Emperor. The policeman did not raise his eyes, but curtly answered: “If you were the Government you wouldn’t be so fat.” “Oh, my dear fellow, if I were the Government,” rejoined the hatter, suddenly affecting an air of gravity, “things would go on rather better, I give you my word for it. Thus, their foreign policy—why, for some time past it has been enough to make a fellow sweat. If I—I who speak to you—only knew a journalist to inspire him with my ideas.” He was growing animated, and as he had finished crunching his barley-sugar, he opened a drawer from which he took a number of jujubes, which he swallowed while gesticulating.