The workwomen had no cause for complaint.

The mistress made it very strong and without a grain of chicory.

It was quite different to Madame Fauconnier's coffee, which was like ditch-water.

Only whenever mother Coupeau undertook to make it, it was always an interminable time before it was ready, because she would fall asleep over the kettle.

On these occasions, when the workwomen had finished their lunch, they would do a little ironing whilst waiting for the coffee.
It so happened that on the morrow of Twelfth-day half-past twelve struck and still the coffee was not ready.