person on whom loud protestations would have no effect, "I think he has
a frank look about the eyes. He'll marry you, my dear, I'm sure of it."

Gervaise wiped her forehead with her wet hand. Shaking her head again,
she pulled another garment out of the water. Both of them kept silence
for a moment. The wash-house was quieting down, for eleven o'clock had
struck. Half of the washerwomen were perched on the edge of their tubs,
eating sausages between slices of bread and drinking from open bottles
of wine. Only housewives who had come to launder small bundles of family
linen were hurrying to finish.

Occasional beetle blows could still be heard amid the subdued laughter
and gossip half-choked by the greedy chewing of jawbones. The steam
engine never stopped. Its vibrant, snorting voice seemed to fill the
entire hall, though not one of the women even heard it. It was like the
breathing of the wash-house, its hot breath collecting under the ceiling
rafters in an eternal floating mist.

The heat was becoming intolerable. Through the tall windows on the left
sunlight was streaming in, touching the steamy vapors with opalescent
tints of soft pinks and grayish blues. Charles went from window to
window, letting down the heavy canvas awnings. Then he crossed to the
shady side to open the ventilators. He was applauded by cries and hand
clapping and a rough sort of gaiety spread around. Soon even the last of
the beetle-pounding stopped.

With full mouths, the washerwomen could only make gestures. It became
so quiet that the grating sound of the fireman shoveling coal into the
engine's firebox could be heard at regular intervals from far at the
other end.