When on the Fridays the laundress parted from Golden-Mug, she slowly reascended the Rue des Poissonniers, contented and tired, her mind and her body alike tranquil.
Little by little, her fear of Lantier diminished; her good sense got the better of her.

At that time she would still have led a happy life, had it not been for Coupeau, who was decidedly going to the bad.

One day she just happened to be returning from the forge, when she fancied she recognized Coupeau inside Pere Colombe's l'Assommoir, in the act of treating himself to a round of vitriol in the company of My-Boots, Bibi-the-Smoker, and Salted-Mouth, otherwise Drink-without-Thirst.
She passed quickly by, so as not to seem to be spying on them.

But she glanced back; it was indeed Coupeau who was tossing his little glass of bad brandy down his throat with a gesture already familiar.

He lied then; so he went in for brandy now! She returned home in despair; all her old dread of brandy took possession of her.