too much away: there must have been a row. Then, aloud, she said:
âDoesnât he treat you well then?â
âDonât talk to me about it!â Gervaise answered. âBack home, he was real good to me, but since we came up to Paris, I canât make it outâ¦I should tell you, his mother died last year and left him something, around seventeen hundred francs. He wanted to set off for Paris. So, seeing as Papa Macquart was still laying into me as and when he felt like it, I agreed to go with him; and we made the journey with the two kids. He was meant to set me up as a laundress and work at his own trade, which is hat-making. We could have been happy as a pair of larks⦠But the thing is, Lantierâs ambitious, a spendthrift, a man who only thinks of his own enjoyment. In a word, heâs a bit of a good-for-nothing⦠So we came to live in the Hôtel Montmartre, in the Rue Montmartre â and it was dinners here, carriages there, the theatre, a watch for him, a silk dress for me, because heâs quite a decent sort when heâs loaded. You can imagine: the full works, so that in two months, we were cleaned out. So we moved into the Hôtel Boncoeur and thatâs when this lousy life began â â
She stopped, with a sudden lump in her throat, holding back her tears. She had finished scrubbing the clothes.
âGot to fetch my hot water,â she muttered.
But Mme Boche, annoyed at seeing the flow of confidences interrupted in this way, called over the wash-house boy who happened to be passing.
âCharlie, be a good lad and fetch over some hot water for this lady; sheâs in a hurry.â
The boy took the bucket and brought it back full. Gervaise paid him: it was one
sou
a bucket. She poured the hot water into the tub and gave the linen one last soaping, by hand, leaning over the washboard in a cloud of steam that left threads of grey smoke in her blonde hair.
âHey, why donât you put some crystals in, Iâve got some here,â the concierge said, obligingly. And she emptied the remains of a bag of soda, which she had brought with her, into Gervaiseâs tub. She also offered her some bleach, but the other woman refused: that was for when you had grease or wine stains on the clothes.
âI think heâs a bit of a ladiesâ man,â Mme Boche went on, coming back to the subject of Lantier, but without naming him.
Gervaise, bent double, her hands thrust deep and clenching the clothes, merely shook her head.
âNo, no, I do,â the concierge insisted. âIâve noticed a lot of little thingsâ¦â
But when Gervaise pulled herself up and stared at her, white as a sheet, she changed her mind.
âOh, no, Iâm not saying I know anything⦠He likes a good laugh, I think, thatâs all⦠You know the two girls who live in our house, Adèle and Virginie, well, he has a bit of fun with them, but Iâm sure thatâs as far as it goes.â
The young woman was now standing in front of her, sweat pouring down her face, her arms streaming, and staring intently at her. This irritated the concierge, who struck her breast and gave her word of honour, shouting: âI donât know nothing, I swear I donât!â
Then, more calmly, she added in the sort of soothing tones one uses with someone who doesnât want to know the truth: âIf you ask me, he has honest eyes⦠Heâll marry you, sweetie, I swear he will!â
Gervaise wiped her brow with her wet hand, then pulled another piece of clothing out of the water, shaking her head. For a short while, neither of them said anything. Around them, the wash-house had gone quiet. Eleven oâclock struck. Half the women, sitting with one leg on the rim of their tubs and a litre of wine uncorked between their feet, were eating sausages in slit loaves of bread; only the housewives, who had come to wash their little bundles of clothes,
âDoesnât he treat you well then?â
âDonât talk to me about it!â Gervaise answered. âBack home, he was real good to me, but since we came up to Paris, I canât make it outâ¦I should tell you, his mother died last year and left him something, around seventeen hundred francs. He wanted to set off for Paris. So, seeing as Papa Macquart was still laying into me as and when he felt like it, I agreed to go with him; and we made the journey with the two kids. He was meant to set me up as a laundress and work at his own trade, which is hat-making. We could have been happy as a pair of larks⦠But the thing is, Lantierâs ambitious, a spendthrift, a man who only thinks of his own enjoyment. In a word, heâs a bit of a good-for-nothing⦠So we came to live in the Hôtel Montmartre, in the Rue Montmartre â and it was dinners here, carriages there, the theatre, a watch for him, a silk dress for me, because heâs quite a decent sort when heâs loaded. You can imagine: the full works, so that in two months, we were cleaned out. So we moved into the Hôtel Boncoeur and thatâs when this lousy life began â â
She stopped, with a sudden lump in her throat, holding back her tears. She had finished scrubbing the clothes.
âGot to fetch my hot water,â she muttered.
But Mme Boche, annoyed at seeing the flow of confidences interrupted in this way, called over the wash-house boy who happened to be passing.
âCharlie, be a good lad and fetch over some hot water for this lady; sheâs in a hurry.â
The boy took the bucket and brought it back full. Gervaise paid him: it was one
sou
a bucket. She poured the hot water into the tub and gave the linen one last soaping, by hand, leaning over the washboard in a cloud of steam that left threads of grey smoke in her blonde hair.
âHey, why donât you put some crystals in, Iâve got some here,â the concierge said, obligingly. And she emptied the remains of a bag of soda, which she had brought with her, into Gervaiseâs tub. She also offered her some bleach, but the other woman refused: that was for when you had grease or wine stains on the clothes.
âI think heâs a bit of a ladiesâ man,â Mme Boche went on, coming back to the subject of Lantier, but without naming him.
Gervaise, bent double, her hands thrust deep and clenching the clothes, merely shook her head.
âNo, no, I do,â the concierge insisted. âIâve noticed a lot of little thingsâ¦â
But when Gervaise pulled herself up and stared at her, white as a sheet, she changed her mind.
âOh, no, Iâm not saying I know anything⦠He likes a good laugh, I think, thatâs all⦠You know the two girls who live in our house, Adèle and Virginie, well, he has a bit of fun with them, but Iâm sure thatâs as far as it goes.â
The young woman was now standing in front of her, sweat pouring down her face, her arms streaming, and staring intently at her. This irritated the concierge, who struck her breast and gave her word of honour, shouting: âI donât know nothing, I swear I donât!â
Then, more calmly, she added in the sort of soothing tones one uses with someone who doesnât want to know the truth: âIf you ask me, he has honest eyes⦠Heâll marry you, sweetie, I swear he will!â
Gervaise wiped her brow with her wet hand, then pulled another piece of clothing out of the water, shaking her head. For a short while, neither of them said anything. Around them, the wash-house had gone quiet. Eleven oâclock struck. Half the women, sitting with one leg on the rim of their tubs and a litre of wine uncorked between their feet, were eating sausages in slit loaves of bread; only the housewives, who had come to wash their little bundles of clothes,
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