When Gervaise gazes beyond the gray and interminable wall she sees a great light, a golden mist waving and shimmering with the dawn of a new Parisian day. But it is to the Barriere Poissonniers that her eyes persistently return-watching dully the uninterrupted flow of men and cattle, wagons and sheep which come down from Montmartre and from la Chapelle…. Gervaise thinks she distinguishes Lantier amid this crowd. With a fresh pang of disappointment she presses her handkerchief to her lips to restrain her sobs. The tinsmith who occupies a tiny room at the top of the house, his bag of tools over his shoulder, asks of Lantier's whereabouts and sees Gervaise's eyes red with tears. Glancing at the bed, he discovers it has not been disturbed. He shakes his head. "You think your husband ought to have been with you, Madame. But don't be troubled, he is busy with politics…perhaps he passed the night with his friends abusing that reprobate, Bonaparte."