On the Boulevard de la Chapelle, and in the entire neighborhood of the Goutte-d'Or, the fortnight's pay, which fell due on that Saturday, produced an enormous drunken uproar.

Madame Lorilleux was waiting beneath a gas-lamp about twenty paces from the Silver Windmill.

She took her husband's arm, and walked on in front without looking round, at such a rate, that Gervaise and Coupeau got quite out of breath in trying to keep up with them.

Now and again they stepped off the pavement to leave room for some drunkard who had fallen there.

Lorilleux looked back, endeavoring to make things pleasant.
"We will see you as far as your door," said he.
But Madame Lorilleux, raising her voice, thought it a funny thing to spend one's wedding night in such a filthy hole as the Hotel Boncoeur.
Ought they not to have put their marriage off, and have saved a few sous to buy some furniture, so as to have had a home of their own on the first night?
Ah! they would be comfortable, right up under the roof, packed into a little closet, at ten francs a month, where there was not even the slightest air.
"I've given notice, we're not going to use the room up at the top of the house," timidly interposed Coupeau.