and the delicate work of her fingers had cast a glow of serenity over
her. Goujet was twenty-three years old, huge, magnificently built,
with deep blue eyes and rosy cheeks, and the strength of Hercules. His
comrades at the shop called him "Golden Mouth" because of his handsome
blonde beard.

Gervaise at once felt a great friendship for these people. When she
entered their home for the first time, she was amazed at the cleanliness
of the lodging. There was no denying it, one might blow about the
place without raising a grain of dust; and the tiled floor shone like a
mirror. Madame Goujet made her enter her son's room, just to see it.
It was pretty and white like the room of a young girl; an iron bedstead
with muslin curtains, a table, a washstand, and a narrow bookcase
hanging against the wall. Then there were pictures all over the place,
figures cut out, colored engravings nailed up with four tacks, and
portraits of all kinds of persons taken from the illustrated papers.

Madame Goujet said with a smile that her son was a big baby. He found
that reading in the evening put him to sleep, so he amused himself
looking at pictures. Gervaise spent an hour with her neighbor without
noticing the passing of time. Madame Goujet had gone to sit by the
window and work on her lace. Gervaise was fascinated by the hundreds of
pins that held the lace, and she felt happy to be there, breathing
in the good clean atmosphere of this home where such a delicate task
enforced a sort of meditative silence.

The Goujets were worth visiting. They worked long hours, and placed more
than a quarter of their fortnight's earnings in the savings-bank. In the
neighborhood everyone nodded to them, everyone talked of their savings.
Goujet never had a hole in his clothes, always went out in a clean short