She was working on it silently and conscientiously, ironing the puffs and insertions.
Silence prevailed for a time.

Nothing was to be heard except the soft thud of irons on the ironing pad.

On both sides of the huge rectangular table Gervaise, her two employees, and the apprentice were bending over, slaving at their tasks with rounded shoulders, their arms moving incessantly.

Each had a flat brick blackened by hot irons near her.

A soup plate filled with clean water was on the middle of the table with a moistening rag and a small brush soaking in it.
A bouquet of large white lilies bloomed in what had once been a brandied cherry jar.