Close by, Madame Putois, wrapped up in flannel muffled up to her ears, was ironing a petticoat which she turned round the skirt-board, the narrow end of which rested on the back of a chair; whilst a sheet laid on the floor prevented the petticoat from getting dirty as it trailed along the tiles.

Gervaise alone occupied half the work-table with some embroidered muslin curtains, over which she passed her iron in a straight line with her arms stretched out to avoid making any creases.

All on a sudden the coffee running through noisily caused her to raise her head.

It was that squint-eyed Augustine who had just given it an outlet by thrusting a spoon through the strainer.
"Leave it alone!" cried Gervaise.

"Whatever is the matter with you?
It'll be like drinking mud now." Mother Coupeau had placed five glasses on a corner of the work-table that was free.