Mother Coupeau was for ever being seen in the street, hiding bundles under her apron, and strolling in the direction of the pawn-place in the Rue Polonceau.

She strutted along with the air of a devotee going to mass; for she did not dislike these errands; haggling about money amused her; this crying up of her wares like a second-hand dealer tickled the old woman's fancy for driving hard bargains.

The clerks knew her well and called her "Mamma Four Francs," because she always demanded four francs when they offered three, on bundles no bigger than two sous' worth of butter.
At the start, Gervaise took advantage of good weeks to get things back from the pawn-shops, only to put them back again the next week.

Later she let things go altogether, selling her pawn tickets for cash.
One thing alone gave Gervaise a pang--it was having to pawn her clock to pay an acceptance for twenty francs to a bailiff who came to seize her goods.

Until then, she had sworn rather to die of hunger than to part with her clock.