them. Boche glided to a seat beside Madame Lerat. Bibi-the-Smoker had
for neighbors Mademoiselle Remanjou and Madame Gaudron. As for Madame
Boche and mother Coupeau, they were right at the end of the table,
looking after the children, cutting up their meat and giving them
something to drink, but not much wine.

"Does nobody say grace?" asked Boche, whilst the ladies arranged their
skirts under the table-cloth, so as not to get them stained.

But Madame Lorilleux paid no attention to such pleasantries. The
vermicelli soup, which was nearly cold, was gulped down very quickly,
their lips making a hissing noise against the spoons. Two waiters served
at table, dressed in little greasy jackets and not over-clean white
aprons. By the four open windows overlooking the acacias of the
courtyard there entered the clear light of the close of a stormy day,
with the atmosphere purified thereby though without sufficiently cooling
it. The light reflected from the humid corner of trees tinged the
haze-filled room with green and made leaf shadows dance along the
table-cloth, from which came a vague aroma of dampness and mildew.

Two large mirrors, one at each end of the room, seemed to stretch out
the table. The heavy crockery with which it was set was beginning to
turn yellow and the cutlery was scratched and grimed with grease. Each
time a waiter came through the swinging doors from the kitchen a whiff
of odorous burnt lard came with him.

"Don't all talk at once," said Boche, as everyone remained silent with
his nose in his plate.

They were drinking the first glass of wine as their eyes followed two