"I wouldn't care to be obliged to support you," said Madame Gaudron.
"Ah, no; you may take my word for that!"

"I say, little mother, no jokes," replied My-Boots, casting a side
glance at his neighbor's rotund figure. "You've swallowed more than I
have."

The others applauded, shouting "Bravo!"--it was well answered. It
was now pitch dark outside, three gas-jets were flaring in the room,
diffusing dim rays in the midst of the tobacco-smoke. The waiters, after
serving the coffee and the brandy, had removed the last piles of dirty
plates. Down below, beneath the three acacias, dancing had commenced, a
cornet-a-piston and two fiddles playing very loud, and mingling in the
warm night air with the rather hoarse laughter of women.

"We must have a punch!" cried My-Boots; "two quarts of brandy, lots of
lemon, and a little sugar."

But Coupeau, seeing the anxious look on Gervaise's face in front of him,
got up from the table, declaring that there should be no more drink.
They had emptied twenty-five quarts, a quart and a half to each person,
counting the children as grown-up people; that was already too much.
They had had a feed together in good fellowship, and without ceremony,
because they esteemed each other, and wished to celebrate the event of
the day amongst themselves. Everything had been very nice; they had had
lots of fun. It wouldn't do to get cockeyed drunk now, out of respect to
the ladies. That was all he had to say, they had come together to toast
a marriage and they had done so.