GERMINAL
est, a youth of one-and-twenty, was asleep with his brother Jeanlin, who had completed his eleventh year; in the right-hand bed two urchins, Lénore and Henri, the first six years old, the second four, slept in each other’s arms, while Catherine shared the third bed with her sister Alzire, so small for her nine years that Catherine would not have felt her near her if it were not for the little invalid’s humpback, which pressed into her side. The glass door was open; one could perceive the lobby of a landing, a sort of recess in which the father and the mother occupied a fourth bed, against which they had been obliged to instal the cradle of the latest comer, Estelle, aged scarcely three months.
However, Catherine made a desperate effort. She stretched herself, she fidgetted her two hands in the red hair which covered her forehead and neck. Slender for her fifteen years, all that showed of her limbs outside the narrow sheath of her chemise were her bluish feet, as it were tattooed with coal, and her slight arms, the milky whiteness of which contrasted with the sallow tint of her face, already spoilt by constant washing with black soap. A final yawn opened her rather large mouth, with splendid teeth against the chlorotic pallor of her gums; while her grey eyes were crying in her fight with sleep, with a look of painful distress and weariness which seemed to spread over the whole of her naked body.
But a growl came from the landing, and Maheu’s thick voice stammered:
“Devil take it! It’s time. Is it your lighting up, Catherine?”
“Yes, father; it has just struck downstairs.”
"Quick then, lazy. If you had danced less on Sunday you would have woke us earlier. A fine lazy life!"
And he went on grumbling, but sleep returned to him also. His reproaches became confused, and were extinguished in fresh snoring.
The young girl, in her chemise, with her naked feet on the floor, moved about in the room. As she passed by the bed of Henri and Lénore, she replaced the coverlet which had slipped down. They did not wake, lost in the strong sleep of childhood. Alzire, with open eyes, had turned to take the warm place of her big sister without speaking.
“I say, now, Zacharie—and you, Jeanlin; I say, now!”
[12]
