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.