blue blouse, without a stain. He was very polite, and even a trifle
timid, in spite of his broad shoulders. The washerwomen at the end of
the street laughed to see him hold down his head when he passed them. He
did not like their oaths, and thought it disgusting that women should
be constantly uttering foul words. One day, however, he came home tipsy.
Then Madame Goujet, for sole reproach, held his father's portrait before
him, a daub of a painting hidden away at the bottom of a drawer; and,
ever since that lesson, Goujet never drank more than was good for
him, without however, any hatred of wine, for wine is necessary to the
workman. On Sundays he walked out with his mother, who took hold of his
arm. He would generally conduct her to Vincennes; at other times they
would go to the theatre. His mother remained his passion. He still
spoke to her as though he were a little child. Square-headed, his skin
toughened by the wielding of the heavy hammer, he somewhat resembled the
larger animals: dull of intellect, though good-natured all the same.

In the early days of their acquaintance, Gervaise embarrassed him
immensely. Then in a few weeks he became accustomed to her. He watched
for her that he might carry up her parcels, treated her as a sister,
with an abrupt familiarity, and cut out pictures for her. One morning,
however, having opened her door without knocking, he beheld her half
undressed, washing her neck; and, for a week, he did not dare to look
her in the face, so much so that he ended by making her blush herself.

Young Cassis, with the casual wit of a born Parisian, called Golden
Mouth a dolt. It was all right not to get drunk all the time or chase
women, but still, a man must be a man, or else he might as well wear
skirts. Coupeau teased him in front of Gervaise, accusing him of making
up to all the women in the neighborhood. Goujet vigorously defended
himself against the charge.