Four helpers entered hastily in single file, with their red faces, their hands all lumpy like persons in the habit of moving heavy things, and their rusty black clothes worn and frayed from constant rubbing against coffins.

Old Bazouge walked first, very drunk and very proper.

As soon as he was at work he found his equilibrium.

They did not utter a word, but slightly bowed their heads, already weighing mother Coupeau with a glance.

And they did not dawdle; the poor old woman was packed in, in the time one takes to sneeze.