With the pause in singing, they began to talk about a woman who had been found hanging that morning in the building next door.

It was Madame Lerat's turn, but she required to prepare herself.

She dipped the corner of her napkin into a glass of water and applied it to her temples because she was too hot.

Then, she asked for a thimbleful of brandy, drank it, and slowly wiped her lips.
"The 'Child of God,' shall it be ?" she murmured, "the 'Child of God.'" And, tall and masculine-looking, with her bony nose and her shoulders as square as a grenadier's she began: "The lost child left by its mother alone Is sure of a home in Heaven above, God sees and protects it on earth from His throne, The child that is lost is the child of God's love." Her voice trembled at certain words, and dwelt on them in liquid notes; she looked out of the corner of her eyes to heaven, whilst her right hand swung before her chest or pressed against her heart with an impressive gesture.

Then Gervaise, tortured by Lantier's presence, could not restrain her tears; it seemed to her that the song was relating her own suffering, that she was the lost child, abandoned by its mother, and whom God was going to take under his protection.