She was walking heavily up the Rue des Poissonniers when she suddenly heard Coupeau’s voice. Yes, he was there in the Little Civet, letting My-Boots treat him. That comical chap, My-Boots, had been cunning enough at the end of last summer to espouse in authentic fashion a lady who, although rather advanced in years, had still preserved considerable traces of beauty. She was a lady-of-the-evening of the Rue des Martyrs, none of your common street hussies. And you should have seen this fortunate mortal, living like a man of means, with his hands in his pockets, well clad and well fed. He could hardly be recognised, so fat had he grown. His comrades said that his wife had as much work as she liked among the gentlemen of her acquaintance. A wife like that and a country-house is all one can wish for to embellish one’s life. And so Coupeau squinted admiringly at My-Boots. Why, the lucky dog even had a gold ring on his little finger! Gervaise touched Coupeau on the shoulder just as he was coming out of the little Civet. “Say, I’m waiting; I’m hungry! I’ve got an empty stomach which is all I ever get from you.” But he silenced her in a capital style, “You’re hungry, eh? Well, eat your fist, and keep the other for to-morrow.” He considered it highly improper to do the dramatic in other people’s presence. What, he hadn’t worked, and yet the bakers kneaded bread all the same. Did she take him for a fool, to come and try to frighten him with her stories? “Do you want me to turn thief?” she muttered, in a dull voice. My-Boots stroked his chin in conciliatory fashion. “No, that’s forbidden,” said he. “But when a woman knows how to handle herself—” And Coupeau interrupted him to call out “Bravo!” Yes, a woman always ought to know how to handle herself, but his wife had always been a helpless thing. It would be her fault if they died on the straw. Then he relapsed into his admiration for My-Boots. How awfully fine he looked! A regular landlord; with clean linen and swell shoes! They were no common stuff! His wife, at all events, knew how to keep the pot boiling! The two men walked towards the outer Boulevard, and Gervaise followed them. After a pause, she resumed, talking behind Coupeau’s back: “I’m hungry; you know, I relied on you. You must find me something to nibble.” He did not answer, and she repeated, in a tone of despairing agony: “Is that all I get from you?” “_Mon Dieu!_ I’ve no coin,” he roared, turning round in a fury. “Just leave me alone, eh? Or else I’ll hit you.” He was already raising his fist. She drew back, and seemed to make up her mind. “All right, I’ll leave you. I guess I can find a man.”