at the door. I felt inclined to go upstairs again and take my things
off. I should have been wise had I done so. Ah! it's a pretty wedding! I
said how it would be. I wanted to put it off till next Saturday; and it
rains because they wouldn't listen to me! So much the better, so much
the better! I wish the sky would burst!"

Coupeau tried to pacify her without success. He wouldn't have to pay for
her dress if it was spoilt! She had on a black silk dress in which she
was nearly choking, the bodice, too tight fitting, was almost bursting
the button-holes, and was cutting her across the shoulders; while the
skirt only allowed her to take very short steps in walking. However, the
ladies present were all staring at her, quite overcome by her costume.

She appeared not to notice Gervaise, who was sitting beside mother
Coupeau. She asked her husband for his handkerchief. Then she went into
a corner and very carefully wiped off the raindrops that had fallen on
her silk dress.

The shower had abruptly ceased. The darkness increased, it was almost
like night--a livid night rent at times by large flashes of lightning.
Bibi-the-Smoker said laughingly that it would certainly rain priests.
Then the storm burst forth with extreme violence. For half an hour the
rain came down in bucketsful, and the thunder rumbled unceasingly.
The men standing up before the door contemplated the grey veil of the
downpour, the swollen gutters, the splashes of water caused by the rain
beating into the puddles. The women, feeling frightened, had sat down
again, holding their hands before their eyes. They no longer conversed,
they were too upset. A jest Boche made about the thunder, saying that
St. Peter was sneezing up there, failed to raise a smile. But, when
the thunder-claps became less frequent and gradually died away in the