She would have liked to have tried it for a fortnight or a month.

Oh! to sleep a month, especially in winter, the month when the rent became due, when the troubles of life were killing her! But it was not possible--one must sleep forever, if one commences to sleep for an hour; and the thought of this froze her, her desire for death departed before the eternal and stern friendship which the earth demanded.
However, one evening in January she knocked with both her fists against the partition.

She had passed a frightful week, hustled by everyone, without a sou, and utterly discouraged.

That evening she was not at all well, she shivered with fever, and seemed to see flames dancing about her.

Then, instead of throwing herself out of the window, as she had at one moment thought of doing, she set to knocking and calling: "Old Bazouge! Old Bazouge!" The undertaker's helper was taking off his shoes and singing, "There were three lovely girls." He had probably had a good day, for he seemed even more maudlin than usual.
"Old Bazouge! Old Bazouge!" repeated Gervaise, raising her voice.
Did he not hear her then?
She was ready to give herself at once; he might come and take her on his neck, and carry her off to the place where he carried his other women, the poor and the rich, whom he consoled.