look at you, miss! You've got a very black little mug. It'll get whiter,
never fear. You must be good, never run about the streets, and grow up
sensible like your papa and mamma."

Gervaise looked at her daughter very seriously, with wide open eyes,
slowly overshadowed with sadness, for she would rather have had a boy.
Boys can talk care of themselves and don't have to run such risks on the
streets of Paris as girls do. The midwife took the infant from Coupeau.
She forbade Gervaise to do any talking; it was bad enough there was so
much noise around her.

Then the zinc-worker said that he must tell the news to mother Coupeau
and the Lorilleuxs, but he was dying with hunger, he must first of all
have his dinner. It was a great worry to the invalid to see him have to
wait on himself, run to the kitchen for the stew, eat it out of a soup
plate, and not be able to find the bread. In spite of being told not to
do so, she bewailed her condition, and fidgeted about in her bed. It was
stupid of her not to have managed to set the cloth, the pains had laid
her on her back like a blow from a bludgeon. Her poor old man would not
think it kind of her to be nursing herself up there whilst he was
dining so badly. At least were the potatoes cooked enough? She no longer
remembered whether she had put salt in them.

"Keep quiet!" cried the midwife.

"Ah! if only you could stop her from wearing herself out!" said Coupeau
with his mouth full. "If you were not here, I'd bet she'd get up to
cut my bread. Keep on your back, you big goose! You mustn't move about,
otherwise it'll be a fortnight before you'll be able to stand on your
legs. Your stew's very good. Madame will eat some with me, won't you,