"You may talk," Lorilleux cried, banging his fist down on the table,
"but gold is gold."

And, in the midst of the silence caused by the statement of this
fact, the only sound heard was Mademoiselle Remanjou's shrill voice
continuing:

"Then I turn up the skirt and stitch it inside. I stick a pin in the
head to keep the cap on, and that's all; and they are sold for thirteen
sous a piece."

She was explaining how she dressed her dolls to My-Boots, whose jaws
were working slowly like grindstones. He did not listen, though he kept
nodding his head, but looked after the waiters to prevent them removing
any of the dishes he had not cleaned out. They had now finished a veal
stew with green beans. The roast was brought in, two scrawny chickens
resting on a bed of water cress which was limp from the warming oven.

Outside, only the higher branches of the acacias were touched by the
setting sun. Inside, the greenish reflected light was thickened by wisps
of steam rising from the table, now messy with spilled wine and gravy
and the debris of the dinner. Along the wall were dirty dishes and empty
bottles which the waiters had piled there like a heap of refuse. It was
so hot that the men took off their jackets and continued eating in their
shirt sleeves.

"Madame Boche, please don't spread their butter so thick," said
Gervaise, who spoke but little, and who was watching Claude and Etienne
from a distance.