GERMINAL
But a voice came from the staircase, of which they had left the door open. It was Maheude, who called out:
"Take all the bread: I have some vermicelli for the children."
"Yes, yes," replied Catherine.
She had piled up the fire, wedging the pot that held the remains of the soup into a corner of the grate, so that the grandfather might find it when he came in at six. Each took his sabots from under the sideboard, passed the strings of his tin over his shoulder and placed his brick at his back, between shirt and jacket. And they went out, the men first, the girl, who came last, blowing out the candle and turning the key. The house became dark again.
"Ah! we're off together," said a man who was closing the door of the next house.
It was Levaque, with his son Bébert, an urchin of twelve, a great friend of Jeanlin's. Catherine, in surprise, stifled a laugh in Zacharie's ear:
"Why! Bouteloup didn't even wait until the husband had gone!"
Now the lights in the settlement were extinguished, and the last door banged. All again fell asleep; the women and the little ones resuming their slumber in the midst of wider beds. And from the extinguished village to the roaring Voreux a slow filing of shadows took place beneath the squalls, the departure of the colliers to their work, bending their shoulders, and trying to protect their arms, while the brick behind formed a hump on each back. Clothed in their thin jackets they shivered with cold, but without hastening, straggling along the road with the tramp of a flock.
[19]
