Gervaise having seen the doctors place their hands on her old man, wished to feel him also. She approached gently and laid a hand on his shoulder, and she kept it there a minute. _Mon Dieu!_ whatever was taking place inside? It danced down into the very depths of the flesh, the bones themselves must have been jumping. Quiverings, undulations, coming from afar, flowed like a river beneath the skin. When she pressed a little she felt she distinguished the suffering cries of the marrow. What a fearful thing, something was boring away like a mole! It must be the rotgut from l’Assommoir that was hacking away inside him. Well! his entire body had been soaked in it. The doctors had gone away. At the end of an hour Gervaise, who had remained with the house surgeon, repeated in a low voice: “He’s dead, sir; he’s dead!” But the house surgeon, who was watching the feet, shook his head. The bare feet, projecting beyond the mattress, still danced on. They were not particularly clean and the nails were long. Several more hours passed. All on a sudden they stiffened and became motionless. Then the house surgeon turned towards Gervaise, saying: “It’s over now.” Death alone had been able to stop those feet. When Gervaise got back to the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or she found at the Boches’ a number of women who were cackling in excited tones. She thought they were awaiting her to have the latest news, the same as the other days. “He’s gone,” said she, quietly, as she pushed open the door, looking tired out and dull. But no one listened to her. The whole building was topsy-turvy. Oh! a most extraordinary story. Poisson had caught his wife with Lantier. Exact details were not known, because everyone had a different version. However, he had appeared just when they were not expecting him. Some further information was given, which the ladies repeated to one another as they pursed their lips. A sight like that had naturally brought Poisson out of his shell. He was a regular tiger. This man, who talked but little and who always seemed to walk with a stick up his back, had begun to roar and jump about. Then nothing more had been heard. Lantier had evidently explained things to the husband. Anyhow, it could not last much longer, and Boche announced that the girl of the restaurant was for certain going to take the shop for selling tripe. That rogue of a hatter adored tripe. On seeing Madame Lorilleux and Madame Lerat arrive, Gervaise repeated, faintly: “He’s gone. _Mon Dieu!_ Four days’ dancing and yelling—” Then the two sisters could not do otherwise than pull out their handkerchiefs. Their brother had had many faults, but after all he was their brother. Boche shrugged his shoulders and said, loud enough to be heard by everyone: “Bah! It’s a drunkard the less.”