Gervaise, crouching on a chair was swaying her head, with her eyes vaguely and threateningly staring into vacancy.

She had forgotten to warm the dinner, the remains of a stew.

A tallow dip which she neglected to snuff revealed the shameful misery of their hovel.
"It's you, shrimp ?" stammered Gervaise.

"Ah, well, your father will take care of you." Nana did not answer, but remained pale, looking at the cold stove, the table on which no plates were laid, the lugubrious hovel which this pair of drunkards invested with the pale horror of their callousness.

She did not take off her hat but walked round the room; then with her teeth tightly set, she opened the door and went out.
"You are doing down again ?" asked her mother, who was unable even to turn her head.
"Yes; I've forgotten something.