Opposite to him, Gervaise, in a thin black woolen dress, and bareheaded, was finishing her plum which she held by the stalk between the tips of her fingers.

They were close to the street, at the first of the four tables placed alongside the barrels facing the bar.
When the zinc-worker had lit his cigarette, he placed his elbows on the table, thrust his face forward, and for an instant looked without speaking at the young woman, whose pretty fair face had that day the milky transparency of china.

Then, alluding to a matter known to themselves alone, and already discussed between them, he simply asked in a low voice: "So it's to be 'no'?
you say 'no' ?" "Oh! most decidedly 'no' Monsieur Coupeau," quietly replied Gervaise with a smile.

"I hope you're not going to talk to me about that here.
You know you promised me you would be reasonable.

Had I known, I wouldn't have let you treat me." Coupeau kept silence, looking at her intently with a boldness.