THE FAT AND THE THIN

(LE VENTRE DE PARIS)

By Emile Zola

Translated, With An Introduction, By Ernest Alfred Vizetelly

 Let me have men about me that are fat: Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights: Yond' Cassius has a lean and hungry look; He thinks too much: such men are dangerous. SHAKESPEARE: _Julius Caesar_, act i, sc. 2. 

INTRODUCTION

"THE FAT AND THE THIN, " or, to use the French title, "Le Ventre deParis, " is a story of life in and around those vast Central Marketswhich form a distinctive feature of modern Paris. Even the reader whohas never crossed the Channel must have heard of the Parisian _Halles_, for much has been written about them, not only in English books onthe French metropolis, but also in English newspapers, magazines, andreviews; so that few, I fancy, will commence the perusal of the presentvolume without having, at all events, some knowledge of its subjectmatter. 

The Paris markets form such a world of their own, and teem at certainhours of the day and night with such exuberance of life, that it wasonly natural they should attract the attention of a novelist like M. Zola, who, to use his own words, delights "in any subject in which vastmasses of people can be shown in motion. " Mr. Sherard tells us[*] thatthe idea of "Le Ventre de Paris" first occurred to M. Zola in 1872, whenhe used continually to take his friend Paul Alexis for a ramble throughthe Halles. I have in my possession, however, an article written byM. Zola some five or six years before that time, and in this one canalready detect the germ of the present work; just as the motif ofanother of M. Zola's novels, "La Joie de Vivre, " can be traced to ashort story written for a Russian review. 

[*] _Emile Zola: a Biographical and Critical Study_, by RobertHarborough Sherard, pp. 103, 104. London, Chatto & Windus, 1893. 

Similar instances are frequently to be found in the writings of Englishas well as French novelists, and are, of course, easily explained. Ayoung man unknown to fame, and unable to procure the publication of along novel, often contents himself with embodying some particular ideain a short sketch or story, which finds its way into one or anotherperiodical, where it lies buried and forgotten by everybody--exceptingits author. Time goes by, however, the writer achieves some measure ofsuccess, and one day it occurs to him to elaborate and perfect that oldidea of his, only a faint _apercu_ of which, for lack of opportunity, hehad been able to give in the past. With a little research, no doubt, aninteresting essay might be written on these literary resuscitations; butif one except certain novelists who are so deficient in ideas that theycontinue writing and rewriting the same story throughout their lives, itwill, I think, be generally found that the revivals in question are dueto some such reason as that given above. 

It should be mentioned that the article of M. Zola's young days to whichI have referred is not one on market life in particular, but one onviolets. It contains, however, a vigorous, if brief, picture of theHalles in the small hours of the morning, and is instinct with thatrealistic descriptive power of which M. Zola has since given so manyproofs. We hear the rumbling and clattering of the market carts, we seethe piles of red meat, the baskets of silvery fish, the mountains ofvegetables, green and white; in a few paragraphs the whole market worldpasses in kaleidoscopic fashion before our eyes by the pale, dancinglight of the gas lamps and the lanterns. Several years after the paperI speak of was published, when M. Zola began to issue "Le Ventrede Paris, " M. Tournachon, better known as Nadar, the aeronaut andphotographer, rushed into print to proclaim that the realistic novelisthad simply pilfered his ideas from an account of the Halles which he(Tournachon) had but lately written. M. Zola, as is so often his wont, scorned to reply to this charge of plagiarism; but, had he chosen, hecould have promptly settled the matter by producing his own forgottenarticle. 

At the risk of passing for a literary ghoul, I propose to exhume someportion of the paper in question, as, so far as translation can avail, it will show how M. Zola wrote and what he thought in 1867. After thedescription of the markets to which I have alluded, there comes thefollowing passage:--

I was gazing at the preparations for the great daily orgy of Paris whenI espied a throng of people bustling suspiciously in a corner. A fewlanterns threw a yellow light upon this crowd. Children, women, and menwith outstretched hands were fumbling in dark piles which extended alongthe footway. I thought that those piles must be remnants of meat soldfor a trifling price, and that all those wretched people were rushingupon them to feed. I drew near, and discovered my mistake. The heapswere not heaps of meat, but heaps of violets. All the flowery poesy ofthe streets of Paris lay there, on that muddy pavement, amidst mountainsof food. The gardeners of the suburbs had brought their sweet-scentedharvests to the markets and were disposing of them to the hawkers. Fromthe rough fingers of their peasant growers the violets were passing tothe dirty hands of those who would cry them in the streets. At wintertime it is between four and six o'clock in the morning that the flowersof Paris are thus sold at the Halles. Whilst the city sleeps and itsbutchers are getting all ready for its daily attack of indigestion, atrade in poetry is plied in dark, dank corners. When the sun rises thebright red meat will be displayed in trim, carefully dressed joints, andthe violets, mounted on bits of osier, will gleam softly within theirelegant collars of green leaves. But when they arrive, in the darknight, the bullocks, already ripped open, discharge black blood, andthe trodden flowers lie prone upon the footways. . . . I noticed just infront of me one large bunch which had slipped off a neighbouring moundand was almost bathing in the gutter. I picked it up. Underneath, itwas soiled with mud; the greasy, fetid sewer water had left black stainsupon the flowers. And then, gazing at these exquisite daughters of ourgardens and our woods, astray amidst all the filth of the city, I beganto ponder. On what woman's bosom would those wretched flowerets openand bloom? Some hawker would dip them in a pail of water, and of all thebitter odours of the Paris mud they would retain but a slight pungency, which would remain mingled with their own sweet perfume. The water wouldremove their stains, they would pale somewhat, and become a joy both forthe smell and for the sight. Nevertheless, in the depths of each corollathere would still remain some particle of mud suggestive of impurity. And I asked myself how much love and passion was represented by allthose heaps of flowers shivering in the bleak wind. To how many lovingones, and how many indifferent ones, and how many egotistical ones, would all those thousands and thousands of violets go! In a few hours'time they would be scattered to the four corners of Paris, and for apaltry copper the passers-by would purchase a glimpse and a whiff ofspringtide in the muddy streets. 

Imperfect as the rendering may be, I think that the above passagewill show that M. Zola was already possessed of a large amount of hisacknowledged realistic power at the early date I have mentioned. Ishould also have liked to quote a rather amusing story of a priggishPhilistine who ate violets with oil and vinegar, strongly peppered, butconsiderations of space forbid; so I will pass to another passage, whichis of more interest and importance. Both French and English critics haveoften contended that although M. Zola is a married man, he knowsvery little of women, as there has virtually never been any _feminineromance_ in his life. There are those who are aware of the contrary, but whose tongues are stayed by considerations of delicacy and respect. Still, as the passage I am now about to reproduce is signed andacknowledged as fact by M. Zola himself, I see no harm in slightlyraising the veil from a long-past episode in the master's life:--

The light was rising, and as I stood there before that footwaytransformed into a bed of flowers my strange night-fancies gave place torecollections at once sweet and sad. I thought of my last excursion toFontenay-aux-Roses, with the loved one, the good fairy of my twentiethyear. Springtime was budding into birth, the tender foliage gleamedin the pale April sunshine. The little pathway skirting the hill wasbordered by large fields of violets. As one passed along, a strongperfume seemed to penetrate one and make one languid. _She_ was leaningon my arm, faint with love from the sweet odour of the flowers. Awhiteness hovered over the country-side, little insects buzzed in thesunshine, deep silence fell from the heavens, and so low was the soundof our kisses that not a bird in all the hedges showed sign of fear. At a turn of the path we perceived some old bent women, who with dry, withered hands were hurriedly gathering violets and throwing them intolarge baskets. She who was with me glanced longingly at the flowers, andI called one of the women. "You want some violets?" said she. "How much?A pound?"

God of Heaven! She sold her flowers by the pound! We fled in deepdistress. It seemed as though the country-side had been transformed intoa huge grocer's shop. . . . Then we ascended to the woods of Verrieres, and there, in the grass, under the soft, fresh foliage, we found sometiny violets which seemed to be dreadfully afraid, and contrived tohide themselves with all sorts of artful ruses. During two long hoursI scoured the grass and peered into every nook, and as soon as ever Ifound a fresh violet I carried it to her. She bought it of me, andthe price that I exacted was a kiss. . . . And I thought of all thosethings, of all that happiness, amidst the hubbub of the markets ofParis, before those poor dead flowers whose graveyard the footway hadbecome. I remembered my good fairy, who is now dead and gone, and thelittle bouquet of dry violets which I still preserve in a drawer. When Ireturned home I counted their withered stems: there were twenty of them, and over my lips there passed the gentle warmth of my loved one's twentykisses. 

And now from violets I must, with a brutality akin to that which M. Zola himself displays in some of his transitions, pass to very differentthings, for some time back a well-known English poet and essayist wroteof the present work that it was redolent of pork, onions, and cheese. To one of his sensitive temperament, with a muse strictly nourished onsugar and water, such gross edibles as pork and cheese and onions werepeculiarly offensive. That humble plant the onion, employed to flavourwellnigh every savoury dish, can assuredly need no defence; in mostEuropean countries, too, cheese has long been known as the poor man'sfriend; whilst as for pork, apart from all other considerations, I canclaim for it a distinct place in English literature. A greater essayistby far than the critic to whom I am referring, a certain Mr. CharlesLamb, of the India House, has left us an immortal page on the origin ofroast pig and crackling. And, when everything is considered, I shouldmuch like to know why novels should be confined to the aspirations ofthe soul, and why they should not also treat of the requirements ofour physical nature? From the days of antiquity we have all known whatbefell the members when, guided by the brain, they were foolish enoughto revolt against the stomach. The latter plays a considerable part notonly in each individual organism, but also in the life of the world. Over and over again--I could adduce a score of historical examples--ithas thwarted the mightiest designs of the human mind. We mortals aremuch addicted to talking of our minds and our souls and treating ourbodies as mere dross. But I hold--it is a personal opinion--that in thevast majority of cases the former are largely governed by the last. Iconceive, therefore, that a novel which takes our daily sustenance asone of its themes has the best of all _raisons d'etre_. A foreign writerof far more consequence and ability than myself--Signor Edmondo deAmicis--has proclaimed the present book to be "one of the most originaland happiest inventions of French genius, " and I am strongly inclined toshare his opinion. 

It should be observed that the work does not merely treat of theprovisioning of a great city. That provisioning is its _scenario_; butit also embraces a powerful allegory, the prose song of "the eternalbattle between the lean of this world and the fat--a battle in which, asthe author shows, the latter always come off successful. It is, too, inits way an allegory of the triumph of the fat bourgeois, who lives welland beds softly, over the gaunt and Ishmael artist--an allegory whichM. Zola has more than once introduced into his pages, another notableinstance thereof being found in 'Germinal, ' with the fat, well-fedGregoires on the one hand, and the starving Maheus on the other. "

From this quotation from Mr. Sherard's pages it will be gathered that M. Zola had a distinct social aim in writing this book. Wellnigh thewhole social question may, indeed, be summed up in the words "food andcomfort"; and in a series of novels like "Les Rougon-Macquart, " dealingfirstly with different conditions and grades of society, and, secondly, with the influence which the Second Empire exercised on France, thepresent volume necessarily had its place marked out from the very first. 

Mr. Sherard has told us of all the labour which M. Zola expended onthe preparation of the work, of his multitudinous visits to the Parismarkets, his patient investigation of their organism, and his keenartistic interest in their manifold phases of life. And bred as I wasin Paris, a partaker as I have been of her exultations and her woes theyhave always had for me a strong attraction. My memory goes back to theearlier years of their existence, and I can well remember many of theold surroundings which have now disappeared. I can recollect the lastvestiges of the antique _piliers_, built by Francis I, facing the Rue dela Tonnellerie. Paul Niquet's, with its "bowel-twisting brandy" andits crew of drunken ragpickers, was certainly before my time; but I canreadily recall Baratte's and Bordier's and all the folly and prodigalitywhich raged there; I knew, too, several of the noted thieves' hauntswhich took the place of Niquet's, and which one was careful never toenter without due precaution. And then, when the German armies werebeleaguering Paris, and two millions of people were shut off from theworld, I often strolled to the Halles to view their strangely alteredaspect. The fish pavilion, of which M. Zola has so much to say, was bareand deserted. The railway drays, laden with the comestible treasures ofthe ocean, no longer thundered through the covered ways. At the most onefound an auction going on in one or another corner, and a few Seine eelsor gudgeons fetching wellnigh their weight in gold. Then, in the butterand cheese pavilions, one could only procure some nauseous melted fat, while in the meat department horse and mule and donkey took the placeof beef and veal and mutton. Mule and donkey were very scarce, andcommanded high prices, but both were of better flavour than horse; mule, indeed, being quite a delicacy. I also well remember a stall at whichdog was sold, and, hunger knowing no law, I once purchased, cooked, and ate a couple of canine cutlets which cost me two francs apiece. Theflesh was pinky and very tender, yet I would not willingly make such arepast again. However, peace and plenty at last came round once more, the Halles regained their old-time aspect, and in the years whichfollowed I more than once saw the dawn rise slowly over the mounds ofcabbages, carrots, leeks, and pumpkins, even as M. Zola describes in thefollowing pages. He has, I think, depicted with remarkable accuracy andartistic skill the many varying effects of colour that are producedas the climbing sun casts its early beams on the giant larder and itsmasses of food--effects of colour which, to quote a famous saying of thefirst Napoleon, show that "the markets of Paris are the Louvre of thepeople" in more senses than one. 

The reader will bear in mind that the period dealt with by the authorin this work is that of 1857-60, when the new Halles Centrales wereyet young, and indeed not altogether complete. Still, although many oldlandmarks have long since been swept away, the picture of life in allessential particulars remained the same. Prior to 1860 the limits ofParis were the so-called _boulevards exterieurs_, from which a girdle ofsuburbs, such as Montmartre, Belleville, Passy, and Montrouge, extendedto the fortifications; and the population of the city was then only1, 400, 000 souls. Some of the figures which will be found scatteredthrough M. Zola's work must therefore be taken as applying entirely tothe past. 

Nowadays the amount of business transacted at the Halles has verylargely increased, in spite of the multiplication of district markets. Paris seems to have an insatiable appetite, though, on the other hand, its cuisine is fast becoming all simplicity. To my thinking, few moreremarkable changes have come over the Parisians of recent years thanthis change of diet. One by one great restaurants, formerly renowned forparticular dishes and special wines, have been compelled through lackof custom to close their doors; and this has not been caused so much byinability to defray the cost of high feeding as by inability to indulgein it with impunity in a physical sense. In fact, Paris has become acity of impaired digestions, which nowadays seek the simplicity withoutthe heaviness of the old English cuisine; and, should things continuein their present course, I fancy that Parisians anxious for high feedingwill ultimately have to cross over to our side of the Channel. 

These remarks, I trust, will not be considered out of place in anintroduction to a work which to no small extent treats of the appetiteof Paris. The reader will find that the characters portrayed by M. Zolaare all types of humble life, but I fail to see that their circumstancesshould render them any the less interesting. A faithful portrait of ashopkeeper, a workman, or a workgirl is artistically of far more valuethan all the imaginary sketches of impossible dukes and good and wickedbaronets in which so many English novels abound. Several of M. Zola's personages seem to me extremely lifelike--Gavard, indeed, is a_chef-d'oeuvre_ of portraiture: I have known many men like him; and noone who lived in Paris under the Empire can deny the accuracy withwhich the author has delineated his hero Florent, the dreamy and haplessrevolutionary caught in the toils of others. In those days, too, therewas many such a plot as M. Zola describes, instigated by agents likeLogre and Lebigre, and allowed to mature till the eve of an election orsome other important event which rendered its exposure desirable for thepurpose of influencing public opinion. In fact, in all that relates tothe so-called "conspiracy of the markets, " M. Zola, whilst changing timeand place to suit the requirements of his story, has simply followedhistorical lines. As for the Quenus, who play such prominent partsin the narrative, the husband is a weakling with no soul above hisstewpans, whilst his wife, the beautiful Lisa, in reality wears thebreeches and rules the roast. The manner in which she cures Quenu of hispolitical proclivities, though savouring of persuasiveness rather thanviolence, is worthy of the immortal Mrs. Caudle: Douglas Jerrold mighthave signed a certain lecture which she administers to her astoundedhelpmate. Of Pauline, the Quenus' daughter, we see but little in thestory, but she becomes the heroine of another of M. Zola's novels, "LaJoie de Vivre, " and instead of inheriting the egotism of her parents, develops a passionate love and devotion for others. In a like way ClaudeLantier, Florent's artist friend and son of Gervaise of the "Assommoir, "figures more particularly in "L'Oeuvre, " which tells how his painfulstruggle for fame resulted in madness and suicide. With reference to thebeautiful Norman and the other fishwives and gossips scattered throughthe present volume, and those genuine types of Parisian _gaminerie_, Muche, Marjolin, and Cadine, I may mention that I have frequentlychastened their language in deference to English susceptibilities, so that the story, whilst retaining every essential feature, containsnothing to which exception can reasonably be taken. 

E. A. V. 

THE FAT AND THE THIN

CHAPTER I

Amidst the deep silence and solitude prevailing in the avenue severalmarket gardeners' carts were climbing the slope which led towards Paris, and the fronts of the houses, asleep behind the dim lines of elms oneither side of the road, echoed back the rhythmical jolting of thewheels. At the Neuilly bridge a cart full of cabbages and another fullof peas had joined the eight waggons of carrots and turnips comingdown from Nanterre; and the horses, left to themselves, had continuedplodding along with lowered heads, at a regular though lazy pace, whichthe ascent of the slope now slackened. The sleeping waggoners, wrappedin woollen cloaks, striped black and grey, and grasping the reinsslackly in their closed hands, were stretched at full length on theirstomachs atop of the piles of vegetables. Every now and then, a gaslamp, following some patch of gloom, would light up the hobnails of aboot, the blue sleeve of a blouse, or the peak of a cap peering outof the huge florescence of vegetables--red bouquets of carrots, whitebouquets of turnips, and the overflowing greenery of peas and cabbages. 

And all along the road, and along the neighbouring roads, in front andbehind, the distant rumbling of vehicles told of the presence of similarcontingents of the great caravan which was travelling onward through thegloom and deep slumber of that matutinal hour, lulling the dark city tocontinued repose with its echoes of passing food. 

Madame Francois's horse, Balthazar, an animal that was far too fat, led the van. He was plodding on, half asleep and wagging his ears, whensuddenly, on reaching the Rue de Longchamp, he quivered with fear andcame to a dead stop. The horses behind, thus unexpectedly checked, rantheir heads against the backs of the carts in front of them, and theprocession halted amidst a clattering of bolts and chains and the oathsof the awakened waggoners. Madame Francois, who sat in front of hervehicle, with her back to a board which kept her vegetables in position, looked down; but, in the dim light thrown to the left by a small squarelantern, which illuminated little beyond one of Balthazar's sheenyflanks, she could distinguish nothing. 

"Come, old woman, let's get on!" cried one of the men, who had raisedhimself to a kneeling position amongst his turnips; "it's only somedrunken sot. "

Madame Francois, however, had bent forward and on her right hand hadcaught sight of a black mass, lying almost under the horse's hoofs, andblocking the road. 

"You wouldn't have us drive over a man, would you?" said she, jumping tothe ground. 

It was indeed a man lying at full length upon the road, with his armsstretched out and his face in the dust. He seemed to be remarkably tall, but as withered as a dry branch, and the wonder was that Balthazarhad not broken him in half with a blow from his hoof. Madame Francoisthought that he was dead; but on stooping and taking hold of one of hishands, she found that it was quite warm. 

"Poor fellow!" she murmured softly. 

The waggoners, however, were getting impatient. 

"Hurry up, there!" said the man kneeling amongst the turnips, in ahoarse voice. "He's drunk till he can hold no more, the hog! Shove himinto the gutter. "

Meantime, the man on the road had opened his eyes. He looked at MadameFrancois with a startled air, but did not move. She herself now thoughtthat he must indeed be drunk. 

"You mustn't stop here, " she said to him, "or you'll get run over andkilled. Where were you going?"

"I don't know, " replied the man in a faint voice. 

Then, with an effort and an anxious expression, he added: "I was goingto Paris; I fell down, and don't remember any more. "

Madame Francois could now see him more distinctly, and he was truly apitiable object, with his ragged black coat and trousers, through therents in which you could espy his scraggy limbs. Underneath a blackcloth cap, which was drawn low over his brows, as though he were afraidof being recognised, could be seen two large brown eyes, gleaming withpeculiar softness in his otherwise stern and harassed countenance. Itseemed to Madame Francois that he was in far too famished a condition tohave got drunk. 

"And what part of Paris were you going to?" she continued. 

The man did not reply immediately. This questioning seemed to distresshim. He appeared to be thinking the matter over, but at last saidhesitatingly, "Over yonder, towards the markets. "

He had now, with great difficulty, got to his feet again, and seemedanxious to resume his journey. But Madame Francois noticed that hetottered, and clung for support to one of the shafts of her waggon. 

"Are you tired?" she asked him. 

"Yes, very tired, " he replied. 

Then she suddenly assumed a grumpy tone, as though displeased, and, giving him a push, exclaimed: "Look sharp, then, and climb into my cart. You've made us lose a lot of time. I'm going to the markets, and I'llturn you out there with my vegetables. "

Then, as the man seemed inclined to refuse her offer, she pushed him upwith her stout arms, and bundled him down upon the turnips and carrots. 

"Come, now, don't give us any more trouble, " she cried angrily. "You arequite enough to provoke one, my good fellow. Don't I tell you thatI'm going to the markets? Sleep away up there. I'll wake you when wearrive. "

She herself then clambered into the cart again, and settled herself withher back against the board, grasping the reins of Balthazar, who startedoff drowsily, swaying his ears once more. The other waggons followed, and the procession resumed its lazy march through the darkness, whilstthe rhythmical jolting of the wheels again awoke the echoes of thesleepy house fronts, and the waggoners, wrapped in their cloaks, dozedoff afresh. The one who had called to Madame Francois growled out as helay down: "As if we'd nothing better to do than pick up every drunkensot we come across! You're a scorcher, old woman!"

The waggons rumbled on, and the horses picked their own way, withdrooping heads. The stranger whom Madame Francois had befriended waslying on his stomach, with his long legs lost amongst the turnips whichfilled the back part of the cart, whilst his face was buried amidst thespreading piles of carrot bunches. With weary, extended arms he clutchedhold of his vegetable couch in fear of being thrown to the ground by oneof the waggon's jolts, and his eyes were fixed on the two long lines ofgas lamps which stretched away in front of him till they mingled with aswarm of other lights in the distance atop of the slope. Far away on thehorizon floated a spreading, whitish vapour, showing where Paris sleptamidst the luminous haze of all those flamelets. 

"I come from Nanterre, and my name's Madame Francois, " said the marketgardener presently. "Since my poor man died I go to the markets everymorning myself. It's a hard life, as you may guess. And who are you?"

"My name's Florent, I come from a distance, " replied the stranger, withembarrassment. "Please excuse me, but I'm really so tired that it ispainful to me to talk. "

He was evidently unwilling to say anything more, and so Madame Francoisrelapsed into silence, and allowed the reins to fall loosely on theback of Balthazar, who went his way like an animal acquainted with everystone of the road. 

Meantime, with his eyes still fixed upon the far-spreading glare ofParis, Florent was pondering over the story which he had refused tocommunicate to Madame Francois. After making his escape from Cayenne, whither he had been transported for his participation in the resistanceto Louis Napoleon's Coup d'Etat, he had wandered about Dutch Guianafor a couple of years, burning to return to France, yet dreading theImperial police. At last, however, he once more saw before him thebeloved and mighty city which he had so keenly regretted and so ardentlylonged for. He would hide himself there, he told himself, and again leadthe quiet, peaceable life that he had lived years ago. The police wouldnever be any the wiser; and everyone would imagine, indeed, that hehad died over yonder, across the sea. Then he thought of his arrival atHavre, where he had landed with only some fifteen francs tied up in acorner of his handkerchief. He had been able to pay for a seat inthe coach as far as Rouen, but from that point he had been forced tocontinue his journey on foot, as he had scarcely thirty sous left of hislittle store. At Vernon his last copper had gone in bread. After that hehad no clear recollection of anything. He fancied that he could rememberhaving slept for several hours in a ditch, and having shown the paperswith which he had provided himself to a gendarme; however, he had only avery confused idea of what had happened. He had left Vernon without anybreakfast, seized every now and then with hopeless despair and ragingpangs which had driven him to munch the leaves of the hedges as hetramped along. A prey to cramp and fright, his body bent, his sightdimmed, and his feet sore, he had continued his weary march, ever drawnonwards in a semi-unconscious state by a vision of Paris, which, far, far away, beyond the horizon, seemed to be summoning him and waiting forhim. 

When he at length reached Courbevoie, the night was very dark. Paris, looking like a patch of star-sprent sky that had fallen upon the blackearth, seemed to him to wear a forbidding aspect, as though angry at hisreturn. Then he felt very faint, and his legs almost gave way beneathhim as he descended the hill. As he crossed the Neuilly bridge hesustained himself by clinging to the parapet, and bent over and lookedat the Seine rolling inky waves between its dense, massy banks. A redlamp on the water seemed to be watching him with a sanguineous eye. And then he had to climb the hill if he would reach Paris on its summityonder. The hundreds of leagues which he had already travelled wereas nothing to it. That bit of a road filled him with despair. He wouldnever be able, he thought, to reach yonder light crowned summit. Thespacious avenue lay before him with its silence and its darkness, itslines of tall trees and low houses, its broad grey footwalks, speckledwith the shadows of overhanging branches, and parted occasionally by thegloomy gaps of side streets. The squat yellow flames of the gas lamps, standing erect at regular intervals, alone imparted a little life to thelonely wilderness. And Florent seemed to make no progress; the avenueappeared to grow ever longer and longer, to be carrying Paris away intothe far depths of the night. At last he fancied that the gas lamps, withtheir single eyes, were running off on either hand, whisking the roadaway with them; and then, overcome by vertigo, he stumbled and fell onthe roadway like a log. 

Now he was lying at ease on his couch of greenery, which seemed to himsoft as a feather bed. He had slightly raised his head so as to keep hiseyes on the luminous haze which was spreading above the dark roofs whichhe could divine on the horizon. He was nearing his goal, carried alongtowards it, with nothing to do but to yield to the leisurely jolts ofthe waggon; and, free from all further fatigue, he now only sufferedfrom hunger. Hunger, indeed, had once more awoke within him withfrightful and wellnigh intolerable pangs. His limbs seemed to havefallen asleep; he was only conscious of the existence of his stomach, horribly cramped and twisted as by a red-hot iron. The fresh odour ofthe vegetables, amongst which he was lying, affected him so keenly thathe almost fainted away. He strained himself against that piled-upmass of food with all his remaining strength, in order to compress hisstomach and silence its groans. And the nine other waggons behind him, with their mountains of cabbages and peas, their piles of artichokes, lettuces, celery, and leeks, seemed to him to be slowly overtaking him, as though to bury him whilst he was thus tortured by hunger beneathan avalanche of food. Presently the procession halted, and there was asound of deep voices. They had reached the barriers, and the municipalcustoms officers were examining the waggons. A moment later Florententered Paris, in a swoon, lying atop of the carrots, with clenchedteeth. 

"Hallow! You up there!" Madame Francois called out sharply. 

And as the stranger made no attempt to move, she clambered up and shookhim. Florent rose to a sitting posture. He had slept and no longer feltthe pangs of hunger, but was dizzy and confused. 

"You'll help me to unload, won't you?" Madame Francois said to him, asshe made him get down. 

He helped her. A stout man with a felt hat on his head and a badge inthe top buttonhole of his coat was striking the ground with a stick andgrumbling loudly:

"Come, come, now, make haste! You must get on faster than that! Bringthe waggon a little more forward. How many yards' standing have you?Four, isn't it?"

Then he gave a ticket to Madame Francois, who took some coppers out of alittle canvas bag and handed them to him; whereupon he went off to venthis impatience and tap the ground with his stick a little further away. Madame Francois took hold of Balthazar's bridle and backed him so as tobring the wheels of the waggon close to the footway. Then, having markedout her four yards with some wisps of straw, after removing the back ofthe cart, she asked Florent to hand her the vegetables bunch by bunch. She arranged them sort by sort on her standing, setting them outartistically, the "tops" forming a band of greenery around each pile;and it was with remarkable rapidity that she completed her show, which, in the gloom of early morning, looked like some piece of symmetricallycoloured tapestry. When Florent had handed her a huge bunch of parsley, which he had found at the bottom of the cart, she asked him for stillanother service. 

"It would be very kind of you, " said she, "if you would look after mygoods while I put the horse and cart up. I'm only going a couple ofyards, to the Golden Compasses, in the Rue Montorgueil. "

Florent told her that she might make herself easy. He preferred toremain still, for his hunger had revived since he had begun to moveabout. He sat down and leaned against a heap of cabbages beside MadameFrancois's stock. He was all right there, he told himself, and wouldnot go further afield, but wait. His head felt empty, and he had no veryclear notion as to where he was. At the beginning of September itis quite dark in the early morning. Around him lighted lanterns wereflitting or standing stationary in the depths of the gloom. He wassitting on one side of a broad street which he did not recognise; itstretched far away into the blackness of the night. He could makeout nothing plainly, excepting the stock of which he had been left incharge. All around him along the market footways rose similar piles ofgoods. The middle of the roadway was blocked by huge grey tumbrels, and from one end of the street to the other a sound of heavy breathingpassed, betokening the presence of horses which the eye could notdistinguish. 

Shouts and calls, the noise of falling wood, or of iron chains slippingto the ground, the heavy thud of loads of vegetables discharged from thewaggons, and the grating of wheels as the carts were backed against thefootways, filled the yet sonorous awakening, whose near approach couldbe felt and heard in the throbbing gloom. Glancing over the pile ofcabbages behind him. Florent caught sight of a man wrapped like a parcelin his cloak, and snoring away with his head upon some baskets of plums. Nearer to him, on his left, he could distinguish a lad, some ten yearsold, slumbering between two heaps of endive, with an angelic smile onhis face. And as yet there seemed to be nothing on that pavement thatwas really awake except the lanterns waving from invisible arms, andflitting and skipping over the sleep of the vegetables and human beingsspread out there in heaps pending the dawn. However, what surprisedFlorent was the sight of some huge pavilions on either side of thestreet, pavilions with lofty roofs that seemed to expand and soar out ofsight amidst a swarm of gleams. In his weakened state of mind he fanciedhe beheld a series of enormous, symmetrically built palaces, light andairy as crystal, whose fronts sparkled with countless streaks of lightfiltering through endless Venetian shutters. Gleaming between theslender pillar shafts these narrow golden bars seemed like ladders oflight mounting to the gloomy line of the lower roofs, and then soaringaloft till they reached the jumble of higher ones, thus describing theopen framework of immense square halls, where in the yellow flare of thegas lights a multitude of vague, grey, slumbering things was gatheredtogether. 

At last Florent turned his head to look about him, distressed at notknowing where he was, and filled with vague uneasiness by the sight ofthat huge and seemingly fragile vision. And now, as he raised his eyes, he caught sight of the luminous dial and the grey massive pile of SaintEustache's Church. At this he was much astonished. He was close to SaintEustache, yet all was novel to him. 

However, Madame Francois had come back again, and was engaged in aheated discussion with a man who carried a sack over his shoulder andoffered to buy her carrots for a sou a bunch. 

"Really, now, you are unreasonable, Lacaille!" said she. "You know quitewell that you will sell them again to the Parisians at four and fivesous the bunch. Don't tell me that you won't! You may have them for twosous the bunch, if you like. "

Then, as the man went off, she continued: "Upon my word, I believe somepeople think that things grow of their own accord! Let him go and findcarrots at a sou the bunch elsewhere, tipsy scoundrel that he is! He'llcome back again presently, you'll see. "

These last remarks were addressed to Florent. And, seating herself byhis side, Madame Francois resumed: "If you've been a long time away fromParis, you perhaps don't know the new markets. They haven't been builtfor more than five years at the most. That pavilion you see there besideus is the flower and fruit market. The fish and poultry markets arefarther away, and over there behind us come the vegetables and thebutter and cheese. There are six pavilions on this side, and on theother side, across the road, there are four more, with the meat andthe tripe stalls. It's an enormous place, but it's horribly cold in thewinter. They talk about pulling down the houses near the corn market tomake room for two more pavilions. But perhaps you know all this?"

"No, indeed, " replied Florent; "I've been abroad. And what's the name ofthat big street in front of us?"

"Oh, that's a new street. It's called the Rue du Pont Neuf. Itleads from the Seine through here to the Rue Montmartre and the RueMontorgueil. You would soon have recognized where you were if it hadbeen daylight. "

Madame Francois paused and rose, for she saw a woman heading down toexamine her turnips. "Ah, is that you, Mother Chantemesse?" she said ina friendly way. 

Florent meanwhile glanced towards the Rue Montorgueil. It was therethat a body of police officers had arrested him on the night of December4. [*] He had been walking along the Boulevard Montmartre at about twoo'clock, quietly making his way through the crowd, and smiling at thenumber of soldiers that the Elysee had sent into the streets to awe thepeople, when the military suddenly began making a clean sweep of thethoroughfare, shooting folks down at close range during a quarter of anhour. Jostled and knocked to the ground, Florent fell at the cornerof the Rue Vivienne and knew nothing further of what happened, for thepanic-stricken crowd, in their wild terror of being shot, trampled overhis body. Presently, hearing everything quiet, he made an attempt torise; but across him there lay a young woman in a pink bonnet, whoseshawl had slipped aside, allowing her chemisette, pleated in littletucks, to be seen. Two bullets had pierced the upper part of her bosom;and when Florent gently removed the poor creature to free his legs, two streamlets of blood oozed from her wounds on to his hands. Then hesprang up with a sudden bound, and rushed madly away, hatless and withhis hands still wet with blood. Until evening he wandered about thestreets, with his head swimming, ever seeing the young woman lyingacross his legs with her pale face, her blue staring eyes, her distortedlips, and her expression of astonishment at thus meeting death sosuddenly. He was a shy, timid fellow. Albeit thirty years old he hadnever dared to stare women in the face; and now, for the rest of hislife, he was to have that one fixed in his heart and memory. He felt asthough he had lost some loved one of his own. 

[*] 1851. Two days after the Coup d'Etat. --Translator. 

In the evening, without knowing how he had got there, still dazed andhorrified as he was by the terrible scenes of the afternoon, he hadfound himself at a wine shop in the Rue Montorgueil, where several menwere drinking and talking of throwing up barricades. He went away withthem, helped them to tear up a few paving-stones, and seated himself onthe barricade, weary with his long wandering through the streets, andreflecting that he would fight when the soldiers came up. However, hehad not even a knife with him, and was still bareheaded. Towards eleveno'clock he dozed off, and in his sleep could see the two holes in thedead woman's white chemisette glaring at him like eyes reddened by tearsand blood. When he awoke he found himself in the grasp of four policeofficers, who were pummelling him with their fists. The men who hadbuilt the barricade had fled. The police officers treated him with stillgreater violence, and indeed almost strangled him when they noticed thathis hands were stained with blood. It was the blood of the young woman. 

Florent raised his eyes to the luminous dial of Saint Eustache with hismind so full of these recollections that he did not notice the positionof the pointers. It was, however, nearly four o'clock. The markets wereas yet wrapped in sleep. Madame Francois was still talking to old MadameChantemesse, both standing and arguing about the price of turnips, andFlorent now called to mind how narrowly he had escaped being shot overyonder by the wall of Saint Eustache. A detachment of gendarmes had justblown out the brains of five unhappy fellows caught at a barricade inthe Rue Greneta. The five corpses were lying on the footway, at a spotwhere he thought he could now distinguish a heap of rosy radishes. Hehimself had escaped being shot merely because the policemen only carriedswords. They took him to a neighbouring police station and gave theofficer in charge a scrap of paper, on which were these words writtenin pencil: "Taken with blood-stained hands. Very dangerous. " Then he hadbeen dragged from station to station till the morning came. The scrap ofpaper accompanied him wherever he went. He was manacled and guarded asthough he were a raving madman. At the station in the Rue de la Lingeriesome tipsy soldiers wanted to shoot him; and they had already lighted alantern with that object when the order arrived for the prisoners to betaken to the depot of the Prefecture of Police. Two days afterwards hefound himself in a casemate of the fort of Bicetre. Ever since then hehad been suffering from hunger. He had felt hungry in the casemate, andthe pangs of hunger had never since left him. A hundred men were pent inthe depths of that cellar-like dungeon, where, scarce able to breathe, they devoured the few mouthfuls of bread that were thrown to them, likeso many captive wild beasts. 

When Florent was brought before an investigating magistrate, withoutanyone to defend him, and without any evidence being adduced, he wasaccused of belonging to a secret society; and when he swore that thiswas untrue, the magistrate produced the scrap of paper from amongst thedocuments before him: "Taken with blood-stained hands. Very dangerous. "That was quite sufficient. He was condemned to transportation. Six weeksafterwards, one January night, a gaoler awoke him and locked him up ina courtyard with more than four hundred other prisoners. An hour laterthis first detachment started for the pontoons and exile, handcuffed andguarded by a double file of gendarmes with loaded muskets. They crossedthe Austerlitz bridge, followed the line of the boulevards, and soreached the terminus of the Western Railway line. It was a joyouscarnival night. The windows of the restaurants on the boulevardsglittered with lights. At the top of the Rue Vivienne, just at the spotwhere he ever saw the young woman lying dead--that unknown young womanwhose image he always bore with him--he now beheld a large carriage inwhich a party of masked women, with bare shoulders and laughing voices, were venting their impatience at being detained, and expressing theirhorror of that endless procession of convicts. The whole of the way fromParis to Havre the prisoners never received a mouthful of bread or adrink of water. The officials had forgotten to give them their rationsbefore starting, and it was not till thirty-six hours afterwards, whenthey had been stowed away in the hold of the frigate _Canada_, that theyat last broke their fast. 

No, Florent had never again been free from hunger. He recalled all thepast to mind, but could not recollect a single hour of satiety. He hadbecome dry and withered; his stomach seemed to have shrunk; his skinclung to his bones. And now that he was back in Paris once more, hefound it fat and sleek and flourishing, teeming with food in the midstof the darkness. He had returned to it on a couch of vegetables; helingered in its midst encompassed by unknown masses of food which stilland ever increased and disquieted him. Had that happy carnival nightcontinued throughout those seven years, then? Once again he saw theglittering windows on the boulevards, the laughing women, the luxurious, greedy city which he had quitted on that far-away January night; and itseemed to him that everything had expanded and increased in harmonywith those huge markets, whose gigantic breathing, still heavy from theindigestion of the previous day, he now began to hear. 

Old Mother Chantemesse had by this time made up her mind to buy a dozenbunches of turnips. She put them in her apron, which she held closelypressed to her person, thus making herself look yet more corpulent thanshe was; and for some time longer she lingered there, still gossiping ina drawling voice. When at last she went away, Madame Francois again satdown by the side of Florent. 

"Poor old Mother Chantemesse!" she said; "she must be at leastseventy-two. I can remember her buying turnips of my father when I wasa mere chit. And she hasn't a relation in the world; no one but a younghussy whom she picked up I don't know where and who does nothing butbring her trouble. Still, she manages to live, selling things by theha'p'orth and clearing her couple of francs profit a day. For my ownpart, I'm sure that I could never spend my days on the foot-pavement inthis horrid Paris! And she hasn't even any relations here!"

"You have some relations in Paris, I suppose?" she asked presently, seeing that Florent seemed disinclined to talk. 

Florent did not appear to hear her. A feeling of distrust came back tohim. His head was teeming with old stories of the police, stories ofspies prowling about at every street corner, and of women selling thesecrets which they managed to worm out of the unhappy fellows theydeluded. Madame Francois was sitting close beside him and certainlylooked perfectly straightforward and honest, with her big calm face, above which was bound a black and yellow handkerchief. She seemed aboutfive and thirty years of age, and was somewhat stoutly built, with acertain hardy beauty due to her life in the fresh air. A pair of blackeyes, which beamed with kindly tenderness, softened the more masculinecharacteristics of her person. She certainly was inquisitive, but hercuriosity was probably well meant. 

"I've a nephew in Paris, " she continued, without seeming at all offendedby Florent's silence. "He's turned out badly though, and has enlisted. It's a pleasant thing to have somewhere to go to and stay at, isn't it?I dare say there's a big surprise in store for your relations when theysee you. But it's always a pleasure to welcome one of one's own peopleback again, isn't it?"

She kept her eyes fixed upon him while she spoke, doubtlesscompassionating his extreme scragginess; fancying, too, that there wasa "gentleman" inside those old black rags, and so not daring to slip apiece of silver into his hand. At last, however, she timidly murmured:"All the same, if you should happen just at present to be in want ofanything----"

But Florent checked her with uneasy pride. He told her that he hadeverything he required, and had a place to go to. She seemed quitepleased to hear this, and, as though to tranquillise herself concerninghim, repeated several times: "Well, well, in that case you've only gotto wait till daylight. "

A large bell at the corner of the fruit market, just over Florent'shead, now began to ring. The slow regular peals seemed to graduallydissipate the slumber that yet lingered all around. Carts were stillarriving, and the shouts of the waggoners, the cracking of their whips, and the grinding of the paving-stones beneath the iron-bound wheels andthe horses' shoes sounded with an increasing din. The carts could nowonly advance by a series of spasmodic jolts, and stretched in a longline, one behind the other, till they were lost to sight in the distantdarkness, whence a confused roar ascended. 

Unloading was in progress all along the Rue du Pont Neuf, the vehiclesbeing drawn up close to the edge of the footways, while their teamsstood motionless in close order as at a horse fair. Florent feltinterested in one enormous tumbrel which was piled up with magnificentcabbages, and had only been backed to the kerb with the greatestdifficulty. Its load towered above the lofty gas lamp whose bright lightfell full upon the broad leaves which looked like pieces of dark greenvelvet, scalloped and goffered. A young peasant girl, some sixteen yearsold, in a blue linen jacket and cap, had climbed on to the tumbrel, where, buried in the cabbages to her shoulders, she took them one by oneand threw them to somebody concealed in the shade below. Every now andthen the girl would slip and vanish, overwhelmed by an avalanche ofthe vegetables, but her rosy nose soon reappeared amidst the teeminggreenery, and she broke into a laugh while the cabbages again flew downbetween Florent and the gas lamp. He counted them mechanically as theyfell. When the cart was emptied he felt worried. 

The piles of vegetables on the pavement now extended to the verge of theroadway. Between the heaps, the market gardeners left narrow paths toenable people to pass along. The whole of the wide footway was coveredfrom end to end with dark mounds. As yet, in the sudden dancing gleamsof light from the lanterns, you only just espied the luxuriant fulnessof the bundles of artichokes, the delicate green of the lettuces, therosy coral of the carrots, and dull ivory of the turnips. And thesegleams of rich colour flitted along the heaps, according as the lanternscame and went. The footway was now becoming populated: a crowd of peoplehad awakened, and was moving hither and thither amidst the vegetables, stopping at times, and chattering and shouting. In the distance a loudvoice could be heard crying, "Endive! who's got endive?" The gates ofthe pavilion devoted to the sale of ordinary vegetables had just beenopened; and the retail dealers who had stalls there, with white caps ontheir heads, fichus knotted over their black jackets, and skirts pinnedup to keep them from getting soiled, now began to secure their stock forthe day, depositing their purchases in some huge porters' baskets placedupon the ground. Between the roadway and the pavilion these baskets wereto be seen coming and going on all sides, knocking against thecrowded heads of the bystanders, who resented the pushing with coarseexpressions, whilst all around was a clamour of voices growing hoarseby prolonged wrangling over a sou or two. Florent was astonished bythe calmness of the female market gardeners, with bandanas and bronzedfaces, displayed amidst all this garrulous bargaining of the markets. 

Behind him, on the footway of the Rue Rambuteau, fruit was being sold. Hampers and low baskets covered with canvas or straw stood there in longlines, a strong odour of over-ripe mirabelle plums was wafted hither andthither. At last a subdued and gentle voice, which he had heard for sometime past, induced him to turn his head, and he saw a charming darksomelittle woman sitting on the ground and bargaining. 

"Come now, Marcel, " said she, "you'll take a hundred sous, won't you?"

The man to whom she was speaking was closely wrapped in his cloak andmade no reply; however, after a silence of five minutes or more, theyoung woman returned to the charge. 

"Come now, Marcel; a hundred sous for that basket there, and four francsfor the other one; that'll make nine francs altogether. "

Then came another interval. 

"Well, tell me what you will take. "

"Ten francs. You know that well enough already; I told you so before. But what have you done with your Jules this morning, La Sarriette?"

The young woman began to laugh as she took a handful of small change outof her pocket. 

"Oh, " she replied, "Jules is still in bed. He says that men were notintended to work. "

She paid for the two baskets, and carried them into the fruit pavilion, which had just been opened. The market buildings still retained theirgloom-wrapped aspect of airy fragility, streaked with the thousand linesof light that gleamed from the venetian shutters. People were beginningto pass along the broad covered streets intersecting the pavilions, butthe more distant buildings still remained deserted amidst the increasingbuzz of life on the footways. By Saint Eustache the bakers and winesellers were taking down their shutters, and the ruddy shops, with theirgas lights flaring, showed like gaps of fire in the gloom in which thegrey house-fronts were yet steeped. Florent noticed a baker's shop onthe left-hand side of the Rue Montorgueil, replete and golden with itslast baking, and fancied he could scent the pleasant smell of the hotbread. It was now half past four. 

Madame Francois by this time had disposed of nearly all her stock. Shehad only a few bunches of carrots left when Lacaille once more made hisappearance with his sack. 

"Well, " said he, "will you take a sou now?"

"I knew I should see you again, " the good woman quietly answered. "You'dbetter take all I have left. There are seventeen bunches. "

"That makes seventeen sous. "

"No; thirty-four. "

At last they agreed to fix the price at twenty-five sous. MadameFrancois was anxious to be off. 

"He'd been keeping his eye upon me all the time, " she said to Florent, when Lacaille had gone off with the carrots in his sack. "That old rogueruns things down all over the markets, and he often waits till the lastpeal of the bell before spending four sous in purchase. Oh, these Parisfolk! They'll wrangle and argue for an hour to save half a sou, and thengo off and empty their purses at the wine shop. "

Whenever Madame Francois talked of Paris she always spoke in a tone ofdisdain, and referred to the city as though it were some ridiculous, contemptible, far-away place, in which she only condescended to set footat nighttime. 

"There!" she continued, sitting down again, beside Florent, on somevegetables belonging to a neighbour, "I can get away now. "

Florent bent his head. He had just committed a theft. When Lacaillewent off he had caught sight of a carrot lying on the ground, and havingpicked it up he was holding it tightly in his right hand. Behind himwere some bundles of celery and bunches of parsley were diffusingpungent odours which painfully affected him. 

"Well, I'm off now!" said Madame Francois. 

However, she felt interested in this stranger, and could divine thathe was suffering there on that foot-pavement, from which he had neverstirred. She made him fresh offers of assistance, but he again refusedthem, with a still more bitter show of pride. He even got up andremained standing to prove that he was quite strong again. Then, asMadame Francois turned her head away, he put the carrot to his mouth. But he had to remove it for a moment, in spite of the terrible longingwhich he felt to dig his teeth into it; for Madame Francois turned roundagain and looking him full in the face, began to question him withher good-natured womanly curiosity. Florent, to avoid speaking, merelyanswered by nods and shakes of the head. Then, slowly and gently, hebegan to eat the carrot. 

The worthy woman was at last on the point of going off, when a powerfulvoice exclaimed close beside her, "Good morning, Madame Francois. "

The speaker was a slim young man, with big bones and a big head. Hisface was bearded, and he had a very delicate nose and narrow sparklingeyes. He wore on his head a rusty, battered, black felt hat, and wasbuttoned up in an immense overcoat, which had once been of a softchestnut hue, but which rain had discoloured and streaked withlong greenish stains. Somewhat bent, and quivering with a nervousrestlessness which was doubtless habitual with him, he stood there in apair of heavy laced shoes, and the shortness of his trousers allowed aglimpse of his coarse blue hose. 

"Good morning, Monsieur Claude, " the market gardener replied cheerfully. "I expected you, you know, last Monday, and, as you didn't come, I'vetaken care of your canvas for you. I've hung it up on a nail in myroom. "

"You are really very kind, Madame Francois. I'll go to finish that studyof mine one of these days. I wasn't able to go on Monday. Has your bigplum tree still got all its leaves?"

"Yes, indeed. "

"I wanted to know, because I mean to put it in a corner of the picture. It will come in nicely by the side of the fowl house. I have beenthinking about it all the week. What lovely vegetables are in the marketthis morning! I came down very early, expecting a fine sunrise effectupon all these heaps of cabbages. "

With a wave of the arm he indicated the footway. 

"Well, well, I must be off now, " said Madame Francois. "Good-bye for thepresent. We shall meet again soon, I hope, Monsieur Claude. "

However, as she turned to go, she introduced Florent to the youngartist. 

"This gentleman, it seems, has just come from a distance, " said she. "He feels quite lost in your scampish Paris. I dare say you might be ofservice to him. "

Then she at last took her departure, feeling pleased at having left thetwo men together. Claude looked at Florent with a feeling of interest. That tall, slight, wavy figure seemed to him original. Madame Francois'shasty presentation was in his eyes quite sufficient, and he addressedFlorent with the easy familiarity of a lounger accustomed to all sortsof chance encounters. 

"I'll accompany you, " he said; "which way are you going?"

Florent felt ill at ease; he was not wont to unbosom himself so readily. However, ever since his arrival in Paris, a question had been tremblingon his lips, and now he ventured to ask it, with the evident fear ofreceiving an unfavourable reply. 

"Is the Rue Pirouette still in existence?"

"Oh, yes, " answered the artist. "A very curious corner of old Parisis the Rue Pirouette. It twists and turns like a dancing girl, and thehouses bulge out like pot-bellied gluttons. I've made an etching of itthat isn't half bad. I'll show it to you when you come to see me. Is itto the Rue Pirouette that you want to go?"

Florent, who felt easier and more cheerful now that he knew the streetstill existed, declared that he did not want to go there; in fact, hedid not want to go anywhere in particular. All his distrust awoke intofresh life at Claude's insistence. 

"Oh! never mind, " said the artist, "let's go to the Rue Pirouette allthe same. It has such a fine colour at night time. Come along; it's onlya couple of yards away. "

Florent felt constrained to follow him, and the two men walked off, sideby side, stepping over the hampers and vegetables like a couple of oldfriends. On the footway of the Rue Rambuteau there were some immenseheaps of cauliflowers, symmetrically piled up like so many cannonballs. The soft-white flowers spread out like huge roses in the midst of theirthick green leaves, and the piles had something of the appearanceof bridal bouquets ranged in a row in colossal flower stands. Claudestopped in front of them, venting cries of admiration. 

Then, on turning into the Rue Pirouette, which was just opposite, he pointed out each house to his companion, and explained his viewsconcerning it. There was only a single gas lamp, burning in a corner. The buildings, which had settled down and swollen, threw theirpent-houses forward in such wise as to justify Claude's allusion topot-bellied gluttons, whilst their gables receded, and on either sidethey clung to their neighbours for support. Three or four, however, standing in gloomy recesses, appeared to be on the point of topplingforward. The solitary gas lamp illumined one which was snowy with afresh coat of whitewash, suggesting some flabby broken-down old dowager, powdered and bedaubed in the hope of appearing young. Then the othersstretched away into the darkness, bruised, dented, and cracked, greeny with the fall of water from their roofs, and displaying suchan extraordinary variety of attitudes and tints that Claude could notrefrain from laughing as he contemplated them. 

Florent, however, came to stand at the corner of the rue de Mondetour, in front of the last house but one on the left. Here the three floors, each with two shutterless windows, having little white curtains closelydrawn, seemed wrapped in sleep; but, up above, a light could be seenflitting behind the curtains of a tiny gable casement. However, thesight of the shop beneath the pent-house seemed to fill Florent with thedeepest emotion. It was kept by a dealer in cooked vegetables, and wasjust being opened. At its far end some metal pans were glittering, whileon several earthen ones in the window there was a display of cookedspinach and endive, reduced to a paste and arranged in conical moundsfrom which customers were served with shovel-like carvers of whitemetal, only the handles of which were visible. This sight seemed torivet Florent to the ground with surprise. He evidently could notrecognize the place. He read the name of the shopkeeper, Godeboeuf, which was painted on a red sign board up above, and remained quiteovercome by consternation. His arms dangling beside him, he began toexamine the cooked spinach, with the despairing air of one on whom somesupreme misfortune falls. 

However, the gable casement was now opened, and a little old womanleaned out of it, and looked first at the sky and then at the markets inthe distance. 

"Ah, Mademoiselle Saget is an early riser, " exclaimed Claude, who hadjust raised his head. And, turning to his companion, he added: "I oncehad an aunt living in that house. It's a regular hive of tittle-tattle!Ah, the Mehudins are stirring now, I see. There's a light on the secondfloor. "

Florent would have liked to question his companion, but the latter'slong discoloured overcoat give him a disquieting appearance. So withouta word Florent followed him, whilst he went on talking about theMehudins. These Mehudins were fish-girls, it seemed; the older one was amagnificent creature, while the younger one, who sold fresh-waterfish, reminded Claude of one of Murillo's virgins, whenever he saw herstanding with her fair face amidst her carps and eels. 

From this Claude went on to remark with asperity that Murillo paintedlike an ignoramus. But all at once he stopped short in the middle of thestreet. 

"Come!" he exclaimed, "tell me where it is that you want to go. "

"I don't want to go anywhere just at present, " replied Florent inconfusion. "Let's go wherever you like. "

Just as they were leaving the Rue Pirouette, some one called to Claudefrom a wine shop at the corner of the street. The young man went in, dragging Florent with him. The shutters had been taken down on one sideonly, and the gas was still burning in the sleepy atmosphere of theshop. A forgotten napkin and some cards that had been used in theprevious evening's play were still lying on the tables; and the freshbreeze that streamed in through the open doorway freshened the close, warm vinous air. The landlord, Monsieur Lebigre, was serving hiscustomers. He wore a sleeved waistcoat, and his fat regular features, fringed by an untidy beard, were still pale with sleep. Standing infront of the counter, groups of men, with heavy, tired eyes, weredrinking, coughing, and spitting, whilst trying to rouse themselvesby the aid of white wine and brandy. Amongst them Florent recognisedLacaille, whose sack now overflowed with various sorts of vegetables. He was taking his third dram with a friend, who was telling him a longstory about the purchase of a hamper of potatoes. [*] When he had emptiedhis glass, he went to chat with Monsieur Lebigre in a little glazedcompartment at the end of the room, where the gas had not yet beenlighted. 

 [*] At the Paris central markets potatoes are sold by the hamper, not by the sack as in England. --Translator. 

"What will you take?" Claude asked of Florent. 

He had on entering grasped the hand of the person who had called outto him. This was a market porter, [*] a well-built young man of two andtwenty at the most. His cheeks and chin were clean-shaven, but he worea small moustache, and looked a sprightly, strapping fellow with hisbroad-brimmed hat covered with chalk, and his wool-worked neck-piece, the straps falling from which tightened his short blue blouse. Claude, who called him Alexandre, patted his arms, and asked him when they weregoing to Charentonneau again. Then they talked about a grand excursionthey had made together in a boat on the Marne, when they had eaten arabbit for supper in the evening. 

 [*] _Fort_ is the French term, literally "a strong man, " as every market porter needs to be. --Translator. 

"Well, what will you take?" Claude again asked Florent. 

The latter looked at the counter in great embarrassment. At one end ofit some stoneware pots, encircled with brass bands and containing punchand hot wine, were standing over the short blue flames of a gas stove. Florent at last confessed that a glass of something warm would bewelcome. Monsieur Lebigre thereupon served them with three glasses ofpunch. In a basket near the pots were some smoking hot rolls which hadonly just arrived. However, as neither of the others took one, Florentlikewise refrained, and drank his punch. He felt it slipping down intohis empty stomach, like a steam of molten lead. It was Alexandre whopaid for the "shout. "

"He's a fine fellow, that Alexandre!" said Claude, when he and Florentfound themselves alone again on the footway of the Rue Rambuteau. "He'sa very amusing companion to take into the country. He's fond of showinghis strength. And then he's so magnificently built! I have seen himstripped. Ah, if I could only get him to pose for me in the nude out inthe open air! Well, we'll go and take a turn through the markets now, ifyou like. "

Florent followed, yielding entirely to his new friend's guidance. Abright glow at the far end of the Rue Rambuteau announced the break ofday. The far-spreading voice of the markets was become more sonorous, and every now and then the peals of a bell ringing in some distantpavilion mingled with the swelling, rising clamour. Claude and Florententered one of the covered streets between the fish and poultrypavilions. Florent raised his eyes and looked at the lofty vaultoverhead, the inner timbers of which glistened amidst a black laceworkof iron supports. As he turned into the great central thoroughfare hepictured himself in some strange town, with its various districts andsuburbs, promenades and streets, squares and cross-roads, all suddenlyplaced under shelter on a rainy day by the whim of some gigantic power. The deep gloom brooding in the hollows of the roofs multiplied, as itwere, the forest of pillars, and infinitely increased the number of thedelicate ribs, railed galleries, and transparent shutters. And overthe phantom city and far away into the depths of the shade, a teeming, flowering vegetation of luxuriant metal-work, with spindle-shaped stemsand twining knotted branches, covered the vast expanse as with thefoliage of some ancient forest. Several departments of the marketsstill slumbered behind their closed iron gates. The butter and poultrypavilions displayed rows of little trellised stalls and long alleys, which lines of gas lights showed to be deserted. The fish market, however, had just been opened, and women were flitting to and froamongst the white slabs littered with shadowy hampers and cloths. Amongthe vegetables and fruit and flowers the noise and bustle were graduallyincreasing. The whole place was by degree waking up, from the popularquarter where the cabbages are piled at four o'clock in the morning, to the lazy and wealthy district which only hangs up its pullets andpheasants when the hands of the clock point to eight. 

The great covered alleys were now teeming with life. All along thefootways on both sides of the road there were still many marketgardeners, with other small growers from the environs of Paris, who displayed baskets containing their "gatherings" of the previousevening--bundles of vegetables and clusters of fruit. Whilst the crowdincessantly paced hither and thither, vehicles barred the road; andFlorent, in order to pass them, had to press against some dingy sacks, like coal-sacks in appearance, and so numerous and heavy that theaxle-trees of the vans bent beneath them. They were quite damp, andexhaled a fresh odour of seaweed. From a rent low down in the side ofone of them a black stream of big mussels was trickling. 

Florent and Claude had now to pause at every step. The fish was arrivingand one after another the drays of the railway companies drove up ladenwith wooden cages full of the hampers and baskets that had come by trainfrom the sea coast. And to get out of the way of the fish drays, whichbecame more and more numerous and disquieting, the artist and Florentrushed amongst the wheels of the drays laden with butter and eggs andcheese, huge yellow vehicles bearing coloured lanterns, and drawn byfour horses. The market porters carried the cases of eggs, and basketsof cheese and butter, into the auction pavilion, where clerks weremaking entries in note books by the light of the gas. 

Claude was quite charmed with all this uproar, and forgot everything togaze at some effect of light, some group of blouses, or the picturesqueunloading of a cart. At last they extricated themselves from the crowd, and as they continued on their way along the main artery they presentlyfound themselves amidst an exquisite perfume which seemed to befollowing them. They were in the cut-flower market. All over thefootways, to the right and left, women were seated in front of largerectangular baskets full of bunches of roses, violets, dahlias, andmarguerites. At times the clumps darkened and looked like splotchesof blood, at others they brightened into silvery greys of the softesttones. A lighted candle, standing near one basket, set amidst thegeneral blackness quite a melody of colour--the bright variegationsof marguerites, the blood-red crimson of dahlias, the bluey purple ofviolets, and the warm flesh tints of roses. And nothing could havebeen sweeter or more suggestive of springtide than this soft breath ofperfume encountered on the footway, on emerging from the sharp odours ofthe fish market and the pestilential smell of the butter and the cheese. 

Claude and Florent turned round and strolled about, loitering among theflowers. They halted with some curiosity before several women who wereselling bunches of fern and bundles of vine-leaves, neatly tied up inpackets of five and twenty. Then they turned down another covered alley, which was almost deserted, and where their footsteps echoed as thoughthey had been walking through a church. Here they found a little cart, scarcely larger than a wheelbarrow, to which was harnessed a diminutivedonkey, who, no doubt, felt bored, for at sight of them he began brayingwith such prolonged and sonorous force that the vast roofing of themarkets fairly trembled. Then the horses began to neigh in reply, therewas a sound of pawing and tramping, a distant uproar, which swelled, rolled along, then died away. 

Meantime, in the Rue Berger in front of them, Claude and Florentperceived a number of bare, frontless, salesmen's shops, where, by thelight of flaring gas jets, they could distinguish piles of hampers andfruit, enclosed by three dirty walls which were covered with additionsums in pencil. And the two wanderers were still standing there, contemplating this scene, when they noticed a well-dressed woman huddledup in a cab which looked quite lost and forlorn in the block of carts asit stealthily made its way onwards. 

"There's Cinderella coming back without her slippers, " remarked Claudewith a smile. 

They began chatting together as they went back towards the markets. Claude whistled as he strolled along with his hands in his pockets, and expatiated on his love for this mountain of food which rises everymorning in the very centre of Paris. He prowled about the footways nightafter night, dreaming of colossal still-life subjects, paintings of anextraordinary character. He had even started on one, having his friendMarjolin and that jade Cadine to pose for him; but it was hard work topaint those confounded vegetables and fruit and fish and meat--they wereall so beautiful! Florent listened to the artist's enthusiastic talkwith a void and hunger-aching stomach. It did not seem to occur toClaude that all those things were intended to be eaten. Their charm forhim lay in their colour. Suddenly, however, he ceased speaking and, witha gesture that was habitual to him, tightened the long red sash which hewore under his green-stained coat. 

And then with a sly expression he resumed:

"Besides, I breakfast here, through my eyes, at any rate, and that'sbetter than getting nothing at all. Sometimes, when I've forgotten todine on the previous day, I treat myself to a perfect fit of indigestionin the morning by watching the carts arrive here laden with all sortsof good things. On such mornings as those I love my vegetables more thanever. Ah! the exasperating part, the rank injustice of it all, is thatthose rascally Philistines really eat these things!"

Then he went on to tell Florent of a supper to which a friend hadtreated him at Baratte's on a day of affluence. They had partaken ofoysters, fish, and game. But Baratte's had sadly fallen, and all thecarnival life of the old Marche des Innocents was now buried. In placethereof they had those huge central markets, that colossus of ironwork, that new and wonderful town. Fools might say what they liked; it was theembodiment of the spirit of the times. Florent, however, could notat first make out whether he was condemning the picturesqueness ofBaratte's or its good cheer. 

But Claude next began to inveigh against romanticism. He preferred hispiles of vegetables, he said, to the rags of the middle ages; and heended by reproaching himself with guilty weakness in making an etchingof the Rue Pirouette. All those grimy old places ought to be levelledto the ground, he declared, and modern houses ought to be built in theirstead. 

"There!" he exclaimed, coming to a halt, "look at the corner of thefootway yonder! Isn't that a picture readymade, ever so much more humanand natural than all their confounded consumptive daubs?"

Along the covered way women were now selling hot soup and coffee. At onecorner of the foot-pavement a large circle of customers clustered rounda vendor of cabbage soup. The bright tin caldron, full of broth, wassteaming over a little low stove, through the holes of which came thepale glow of the embers. From a napkin-lined basket the woman took somethin slices of bread and dropped them into yellow cups; then with aladle she filled the cups with liquor. Around her were saleswomen neatlydressed, market gardeners in blouses, porters with coats soiled by theloads they had carried, poor ragged vagabonds--in fact, all the earlyhungry ones of the markets, eating, and scalding their mouths, anddrawing back their chins to avoid soiling them with the drippings fromtheir spoons. The delighted artist blinked, and sought a point of viewso as to get a good ensemble of the picture. That cabbage soup, however, exhaled a very strong odour. Florent, for his part, turned his headaway, distressed by the sight of the full cups which the customersemptied in silence, glancing around them the while like suspiciousanimals. As the woman began serving a fresh customer, Claude himself wasaffected by the odorous steam of the soup, which was wafted full in hisface. 

He again tightened his sash, half amused and half annoyed. Then resuminghis walk, and alluding to the punch paid for by Alexandre, he said toFlorent in a low voice:

"It's very odd, but have you ever noticed that although a man can alwaysfind somebody to treat him to something to drink, he can never find asoul who will stand him anything to eat?"

The dawn was now rising. The houses on the Boulevard de Sebastopol atthe end of the Rue de la Cossonnerie were still black; but above thesharp line of their slate roofs a patch of pale blue sky, circumscribedby the arch-pieces of the covered way, showed like a gleaming half-moon. Claude, who had been bending over some grated openings on a level withthe ground, through which a glimpse could be obtained of deep cellarswhere gas lights glimmered, now glanced up into the air between thelofty pillars, as though scanning the dark roofs which fringed the clearsky. Then he halted again, with his eyes fixed on one of the light ironladders which connect the superposed market roofs and give access fromone to the other. Florent asked him what he was seeking there. 

"I'm looking for that scamp of a Marjolin, " replied the artist. "He'ssure to be in some guttering up there, unless, indeed, he's beenspending the night in the poultry cellars. I want him to give me asitting. "

Then he went on to relate how a market saleswoman had found his friendMarjolin one morning in a pile of cabbages, and how Marjolin had grownup in all liberty on the surrounding footways. When an attempt had beenmade to send him to school he had fallen ill, and it had been necessaryto bring him back to the markets. He knew every nook and corner of them, and loved them with a filial affection, leading the agile life of asquirrel in that forest of ironwork. He and Cadine, the hussy whomMother Chantemesse had picked up one night in the old Market of theInnocents, made a pretty couple--he, a splendid foolish fellow, asglowing as a Rubens, with a ruddy down on his skin which attracted thesunlight; and she, slight and sly, with a comical phiz under her tangleof black curly hair. 

Whilst talking Claude quickened his steps, and soon brought hiscompanion back to Saint Eustache again. Florent, whose legs were oncemore giving way, dropped upon a bench near the omnibus office. Themorning air was freshening. At the far end of the Rue Rambuteau rosygleams were streaking the milky sky, which higher up was slashed bybroad grey rifts. Such was the sweet balsamic scent of this dawn, thatFlorent for a moment fancied himself in the open country, on the brow ofa hill. But behind the bench Claude pointed out to him the many aromaticherbs and bulbs on sale. All along the footway skirting the tripemarket there were, so to say, fields of thyme and lavender, garlic andshallots; and round the young plane-trees on the pavement the vendorshad twined long branches of laurel, forming trophies of greenery. Thestrong scent of the laurel leaves prevailed over every other odour. 

At present the luminous dial of Saint Eustache was paling as anight-light does when surprised by the dawn. The gas jets in the wineshops in the neighbouring streets went out one by one, like starsextinguished by the brightness. And Florent gazed at the vast marketsnow gradually emerging from the gloom, from the dreamland in whichhe had beheld them, stretching out their ranges of open palaces. Greenish-grey in hue, they looked more solid now, and even more colossalwith their prodigious masting of columns upholding an endless expanseof roofs. They rose up in geometrically shaped masses; and when all theinner lights had been extinguished and the square uniform buildings weresteeped in the rising dawn, they seemed typical of some gigantic modernmachine, some engine, some caldron for the supply of a whole people, some colossal belly, bolted and riveted, built up of wood and glass andiron, and endowed with all the elegance and power of some mechanicalmotive appliance working there with flaring furnaces, and wild, bewildering revolutions of wheels. 

Claude, however, had enthusiastically sprung on to the bench, and stoodupon it. He compelled his companion to admire the effect of the dawnrising over the vegetables. There was a perfect sea of these extendingbetween the two clusters of pavilions from Saint Eustache to the Rue desHalles. And in the two open spaces at either end the flood of greeneryrose to even greater height, and quite submerged the pavements. The dawnappeared slowly, softly grey in hue, and spreading a light water-colourtint over everything. These surging piles akin to hurrying waves, thisriver of verdure rushing along the roadway like an autumn torrent, assumed delicate shadowy tints--tender violet, blush-rose, and greenyyellow, all the soft, light hues which at sunrise make the sky look likea canopy of shot silk. And by degrees, as the fires of dawn rose higherand higher at the far end of the Rue Rambuteau, the mass of vegetationgrew brighter and brighter, emerging more and more distinctly from thebluey gloom that clung to the ground. Salad herbs, cabbage-lettuce, endive, and succory, with rich soil still clinging to their roots, exposed their swelling hearts; bundles of spinach, bundles of sorrel, clusters of artichokes, piles of peas and beans, mounds of cos-lettuce, tied round with straws, sounded every note in the whole gamut ofgreenery, from the sheeny lacquer-like green of the pods to thedeep-toned green of the foliage; a continuous gamut with ascending anddescending scales which died away in the variegated tones of the headsof celery and bundles of leeks. But the highest and most sonorous notesstill came from the patches of bright carrots and snowy turnips, strewnin prodigious quantities all along the markets and lighting them up withthe medley of their two colours. 

At the crossway in the Rue des Halles cabbages were piled up inmountains; there were white ones, hard and compact as metal balls, curlysavoys, whose great leaves made them look like basins of green bronze, and red cabbages, which the dawn seemed to transform into superb massesof bloom with the hue of wine-lees, splotched with dark purple andcarmine. At the other side of the markets, at the crossway near SaintEustache, the end of the Rue Rambuteau was blocked by a barricade oforange-hued pumpkins, sprawling with swelling bellies in two superposedrows. And here and there gleamed the glistening ruddy brown of a hamperof onions, the blood-red crimson of a heap of tomatoes, the quiet yellowof a display of marrows, and the sombre violet of the fruit of theeggplant; while numerous fat black radishes still left patches of gloomamidst the quivering brilliance of the general awakening. 

Claude clapped his hands at the sight. He declared that those"blackguard vegetables" were wild, mad, sublime! He stoutly maintainedthat they were not yet dead, but, gathered in the previous evening, waited for the morning sun to bid him good-bye from the flag-stonesof the market. He could observe their vitality, he declared, see theirleaves stir and open as though their roots were yet firmly and warmlyembedded in well-manured soil. And here, in the markets, he added, heheard the death-rattle of all the kitchen gardens of the environs ofParis. 

A crowd of white caps, loose black jackets, and blue blouses wasswarming in the narrow paths between the various piles. The big basketsof the market porters passed along slowly, above the heads of thethrong. Retail dealers, costermongers, and greengrocers were makingtheir purchases in haste. Corporals and nuns clustered round themountains of cabbages, and college cooks prowled about inquisitively, onthe look-out for good bargains. The unloading was still going on;heavy tumbrels, discharging their contents as though these were so manypaving-stones, added more and more waves to the sea of greenery whichwas now beating against the opposite footways. And from the far end ofthe Rue du Pont Neuf fresh rows of carts were still and ever arriving. 

"What a fine sight it is!" exclaimed Claude in an ecstasy of enthusiasm. 

Florent was suffering keenly. He fancied that all this was somesupernatural temptation, and, unwilling to look at the markets anylonger, turned towards Saint Eustache, a side view of which he obtainedfrom the spot where he now stood. With its roses, and broad archedwindows, its bell-turret, and roofs of slate, it looked as thoughpainted in sepia against the blue of the sky. He fixed his eyes at laston the sombre depths of the Rue Montorgueil, where fragments ofgaudy sign boards showed conspicuously, and on the corner of the RueMontmartre, where there were balconies gleaming with letters of gold. And when he again glanced at the cross-roads, his gaze was solicited byother sign boards, on which such inscriptions as "Druggist and Chemist, ""Flour and Grain" appeared in big red and black capital letters uponfaded backgrounds. Near these corners, houses with narrow windows werenow awakening, setting amidst the newness and airiness of the Rue duPont Neuf a few of the yellow ancient facades of olden Paris. Standingat the empty windows of the great drapery shop at the corner of theRue Rambuteau a number of spruce-looking counter-jumpers in their shirtsleeves, with snowy-white wristbands and tight-fitting pantaloons, were "dressing" their goods. Farther away, in the windows of the severelooking, barrack-like Guillot establishment, biscuits in gilt wrappersand fancy cakes on glass stands were tastefully set out. All the shopswere now open; and workmen in white blouses, with tools under theirarms, were hurrying along the road. 

Claude had not yet got down from the bench. He was standing on tiptoe inorder to see the farther down the streets. Suddenly, in the midst of thecrowd which he overlooked, he caught sight of a fair head with long wavylocks, followed by a little black one covered with curly tumbled hair. 

"Hallo, Marjolin! Hallo, Cadine!" he shouted; and then, as his voice wasdrowned by the general uproar, he jumped to the ground and started off. But all at once, recollecting that he had left Florent behind him, hehastily came back. "I live at the end of the Impasse des Bourdonnais, "he said rapidly. "My name's written in chalk on the door, ClaudeLantier. Come and see the etching of the Rue Pirouette. "

Then he vanished. He was quite ignorant of Florent's name, and, afterfavouring him with his views on art, parted from him as he had met him, at the roadside. 

Florent was now alone, and at first this pleased him. Ever since MadameFrancoise had picked him up in the Avenue de Neuilly he had beencoming and going in a state of pain fraught somnolence which had quiteprevented him from forming any definite ideas of his surroundings. Nowat last he was at liberty to do what he liked, and he tried to shakehimself free from that intolerable vision of teeming food by which hewas pursued. But his head still felt empty and dizzy, and all that hecould find within him was a kind of vague fear. The day was now growingquite bright, and he could be distinctly seen. He looked down at hiswretched shabby coat and trousers. He buttoned the first, dusted thelatter, and strove to make a bit of a toilet, fearing lest those blackrags of his should proclaim aloud whence he had come. He was seated inthe middle of the bench, by the side of some wandering vagabonds whohad settled themselves there while waiting for the sunrise. Theneighbourhood of the markets is a favourite spot with vagrants in thesmall hours of the morning. However, two constables, still in nightuniform, with cloaks and _kepis_, paced up and down the footway side byside, their hands resting behind their backs; and every time they passedthe bench they glanced at the game which they scented there. Florentfelt sure that they recognised him, and were consulting together aboutarresting him. At this thought his anguish of mind became extreme. Hefelt a wild desire to get up and run away; but he did not dare to doso, and was quite at a loss as to how he might take himself off. Therepeated glances of the constables, their cold, deliberate scrutinycaused him the keenest torture. At length he rose from the bench, makinga great effort to restrain himself from rushing off as quickly as hislong legs could carry him; and succeeded in walking quietly away, thoughhis shoulders quivered in the fear he felt of suddenly feeling the roughhands of the constables clutching at his collar from behind. 

He had now only one thought, one desire, which was to get away fromthe markets as quickly as possible. He would wait and make hisinvestigations later on, when the footways should be clear. The threestreets which met here--the Rue Montmartre, Rue Montorgueil, and RueTurbigo--filled him with uneasiness. They were blocked by vehicles ofall kinds, and their footways were crowded with vegetables. Florent wentstraight along as far as the Rue Pierre Lescot, but there the cress andthe potato markets seemed to him insuperable obstacles. So he resolvedto take the Rue Rambuteau. On reaching the Boulevard de Sebastopol, however, he came across such a block of vans and carts and waggonettesthat he turned back and proceeded along the Rue Saint Denis. Then he gotamongst the vegetables once more. Retail dealers had just set up theirstalls, formed of planks resting on tall hampers; and the deluge ofcabbages and carrots and turnips began all over again. The markets wereoverflowing. Florent tried to make his escape from this pursuingflood which ever overtook him in his flight. He tried the Rue de laCossonnerie, the Rue Berger, the Square des Innocents, the Rue dela Ferronnerie, and the Rue des Halles. And at last he came to astandstill, quite discouraged and scared at finding himself unable toescape from the infernal circle of vegetables, which now seemed to dancearound him, twining clinging verdure about his legs. 

The everlasting stream of carts and horses stretched away as far as theRue de Rivoli and the Place de l'Hotel de Ville. Huge vans were carryingaway supplies for all the greengrocers and fruiterers of an entiredistrict; _chars-a-bancs_ were starting for the suburbs with straining, groaning sides. In the Rue de Pont Neuf Florent got completelybewildered. He stumbled upon a crowd of hand-carts, in which numerouscostermongers were arranging their purchases. Amongst them he recognisedLacaille, who went off along the Rue Saint Honore, pushing a barrow ofcarrots and cauliflowers before him. Florent followed him, in the hopethat he would guide him out of the mob. The pavement was now quiteslippery, although the weather was dry, and the litter of artichokestalks, turnip tops, and leaves of all kinds made walking somewhatdangerous. Florent stumbled at almost every step. He lost sight ofLacaille in the Rue Vauvilliers, and on approaching the corn markethe again found the streets barricaded with vehicles. Then he made nofurther attempt to struggle; he was once more in the clutch of themarkets, and their stream of life bore him back. Slowly retracing hissteps, he presently found himself by Saint Eustache again. 

He now heard the loud continuous rumbling of the waggons that weresetting out from the markets. Paris was doling out the daily food of itstwo million inhabitants. These markets were like some huge central organbeating with giant force, and sending the blood of life through everyvein of the city. The uproar was akin to that of colossal jaws--a mightysound to which each phase of the provisioning contributed, from thewhip-cracking of the larger retail dealers as they started off for thedistrict markets to the dragging pit-a-pat of the old shoes worn by thepoor women who hawked their lettuces in baskets from door to door. 

Florent turned into a covered way on the left, intersecting the group offour pavilions whose deep silent gloom he had remarked during the night. He hoped that he might there find a refuge, discover some corner inwhich he could hide himself. But these pavilions were now as busy, aslively as the others. Florent walked on to the end of the street. Drayswere driving up at a quick trot, crowding the market with cages full oflive poultry, and square hampers in which dead birds were stowed in deeplayers. On the other side of the way were other drays from which porterswere removing freshly killed calves, wrapped in canvas, and laid at fulllength in baskets, whence only the four bleeding stumps of their legsprotruded. There were also whole sheep, and sides and quarters of beef. Butchers in long white aprons marked the meat with a stamp, carried itoff, weighted it, and hung it up on hooks in the auction room. Florent, with his face close to the grating, stood gazing at the rows of hangingcarcasses, at the ruddy sheep and oxen and paler calves, all streakedwith yellow fat and sinews, and with bellies yawning open. Then hepassed along the sidewalk where the tripe market was held, amidst thepallid calves' feet and heads, the rolled tripe neatly packed in boxes, the brains delicately set out in flat baskets, the sanguineous livers, and purplish kidneys. He checked his steps in front of some longtwo-wheeled carts, covered with round awnings, and containing sides ofpork hung on each side of the vehicle over a bed of straw. Seen fromthe back end, the interiors of the carts looked like recesses of sometabernacle, like some taper-lighted chapel, such was the glow of all thebare flesh they contained. And on the beds of straw were lines of tincans, full of the blood that had trickled from the pigs. ThereuponFlorent was attacked by a sort of rage. The insipid odour of the meat, the pungent smell of the tripe exasperated him. He made his way out ofthe covered road, preferring to return once more to the footwalk of theRue de Pont Neuf. 

He was enduring perfect agony. The shiver of early morning came uponhim; his teeth chattered, and he was afraid of falling to the ground andfinding himself unable to rise again. He looked about, but could see novacant place on any bench. Had he found one he would have droppedasleep there, even at the risk of being awakened by the police. Then, asgiddiness nearly blinded him, he leaned for support against a tree, with his eyes closed and his ears ringing. The raw carrot, which he hadswallowed almost without chewing, was torturing his stomach, and theglass of punch which he had drunk seemed to have intoxicated him. He wasindeed intoxicated with misery, weariness, and hunger. Again he felt aburning fire in the pit of the stomach, to which he every now and thencarried his hands, as though he were trying to stop up a hole throughwhich all his life was oozing away. As he stood there he fancied thatthe foot-pavement rocked beneath him; and thinking that he might perhapslessen his sufferings by walking, he went straight on through thevegetables again. He lost himself among them. He went along a narrowfootway, turned down another, was forced to retrace his steps, bungledin doing so, and once more found himself amidst piles of greenery. Someheaps were so high that people seemed to be walking between wallsof bundles and bunches. Only their heads slightly overtopped theseramparts, and passed along showing whitely or blackly according to thecolour of their hats or caps; whilst the huge swinging baskets, carriedaloft on a level with the greenery, looked like osier boats floating ona stagnant, mossy lake. 

Florent stumbled against a thousand obstacles--against porters taking uptheir burdens, and saleswomen disputing in rough tones. He slipped overthe thick bed of waste leaves and stumps which covered the footway, andwas almost suffocated by the powerful odour of crushed verdure. At lasthe halted in a sort of confused stupor, and surrendered to the pushingof some and the insults of others; and then he became a mere waif, apiece of wreckage tossed about on the surface of that surging sea. 

He was fast losing all self-respect, and would willingly have begged. The recollection of his foolish pride during the night exasperated him. If he had accepted Madame Francois's charity, if he had not felt suchidiotic fear of Claude, he would not now have been stranded theregroaning in the midst of these cabbages. And he was especially angrywith himself for not having questioned the artist when they were in theRue Pirouette. Now, alas! he was alone and deserted, liable to die inthe streets like a homeless dog. 

For the last time he raised his eyes and looked at the markets. Atpresent they were glittering in the sun. A broad ray was pouring throughthe covered road from the far end, cleaving the massy pavilions with anarcade of light, whilst fiery beams rained down upon the far expanse ofroofs. The huge iron framework grew less distinct, assumed a bluey hue, became nothing but a shadowy silhouette outlined against the flamingflare of the sunrise. But up above a pane of glass took fire, drops oflight trickled down the broad sloping zinc plates to the gutterings; andthen, below, a tumultuous city appeared amidst a haze of dancing goldendust. The general awakening had spread, from the first start of themarket gardeners snoring in their cloaks, to the brisk rolling of thefood-laden railway drays. And the whole city was opening its iron gates, the footways were humming, the pavilions roaring with life. Shouts andcries of all kinds rent the air; it was as though the strain, whichFlorent had heard gathering force in the gloom ever since four in themorning, had now attained its fullest volume. To the right and left, onall sides indeed, the sharp cries accompanying the auction sales soundedshrilly like flutes amidst the sonorous bass roar of the crowd. It wasthe fish, the butter, the poultry, and the meat being sold. 

The pealing of bells passed through the air, imparting a quiver to thebuzzing of the opening markets. Around Florent the sun was setting thevegetables aflame. He no longer perceived any of those soft water-colourtints which had predominated in the pale light of early morning. Theswelling hearts of the lettuces were now gleaming brightly, the scalesof greenery showed forth with wondrous vigour, the carrots glowedblood-red, the turnips shone as if incandescent in the triumphantradiance of the sun. 

On Florent's left some waggons were discharging fresh loads of cabbages. He turned his eyes, and away in the distance saw carts yet streaming outof the Rue Turbigo. The tide was still and ever rising. He had feltit about his ankles, then on a level with his stomach, and now it wasthreatening to drown him altogether. Blinded and submerged, his earsbuzzing, his stomach overpowered by all that he had seen, he asked formercy; and wild grief took possession of him at the thought of dyingthere of starvation in the very heart of glutted Paris, amidst theeffulgent awakening of her markets. Big hot tears started from his eyes. 

Walking on, he had now reached one of the larger alleys. Two women, oneshort and old, the other tall and withered, passed him, talking togetheras they made their way towards the pavilions. 

"So you've come to do your marketing, Mademoiselle Saget?" said the tallwithered woman. 

"Well, yes, Madame Lecoeur, if you can give it such a name as marketing. I'm a lone woman, you know, and live on next to nothing. I should haveliked a small cauliflower, but everything is so dear. How is butterselling to-day?"

"At thirty-four sous. I have some which is first rate. Will you come andlook at it?"

"Well, I don't know if I shall want any to-day; I've still a little lardleft. "

Making a supreme effort, Florent followed these two women. Herecollected having heard Claude name the old one--MademoiselleSaget--when they were in the Rue Pirouette; and he made up his mindto question her when she should have parted from her tall witheredacquaintance. 

"And how's your niece?" Mademoiselle Saget now asked. 

"Oh, La Sarriette does as she likes, " Madame Lecoeur replied in a bittertone. "She's chosen to set up for herself and her affairs no longerconcern me. When her lovers have beggared her, she needn't come to mefor any bread. "

"And you were so good to her, too! She ought to do well this year; fruitis yielding big profits. And your brother-in-law, how is he?"

"Oh, he----"

Madame Lecoeur bit her lips, and seemed disinclined to say anythingmore. 

"Still the same as ever, I suppose?" continued Mademoiselle Saget. "He'sa very worthy man. Still, I once heard it said that he spent his moneyin such a way that--"

"But does anyone know how he spends his money?" interrupted MadameLecoeur, with much asperity. "He's a miserly niggard, a scurvy fellow, that's what I say! Do you know, mademoiselle, he'd see me die ofstarvation rather than lend me five francs! He knows quite well thatthere's nothing to be made out of butter this season, any more thanout of cheese and eggs; whereas he can sell as much poultry as ever hechooses. But not once, I assure you, not once has he offered to help me. I am too proud, as you know, to accept any assistance from him; still itwould have pleased me to have had it offered. "

"Ah, by the way, there he is, your brother-in-law!" suddenly exclaimedMademoiselle Saget, lowering her voice. 

The two women turned and gazed at a man who was crossing the road toenter the covered way close by. 

"I'm in a hurry, " murmured Madame Lecoeur. "I left my stall withoutanyone to look after it; and, besides, I don't want to speak to him. "

However, Florent also had mechanically turned round and glanced at theindividual referred to. This was a short, squarely-built man, with acheery look and grey, close-cut brush-like hair. Under each arm he wascarrying a fat goose, whose head hung down and flapped against his legs. And then all at once Florent made a gesture of delight. Forgetting hisfatigue, he ran after the man, and, overtaking him, tapped him on theshoulder. 

"Gavard!" he exclaimed. 

The other raised his head and stared with surprise at Florent's tallblack figure, which he did not at first recognise. Then all at once:"What! is it you?" he cried, as if overcome with amazement. "Is itreally you?"

He all but let his geese fall, and seemed unable to master his surprise. On catching sight, however, of his sister-in-law and Mademoiselle Saget, who were watching the meeting at a distance, he began to walk on again. 

"Come along; don't let us stop here, " he said. "There are too many eyesand tongues about. "

When they were in the covered way they began to chat. Florent relatedhow he had gone to the Rue Pirouette, at which Gavard seemed much amusedand laughed heartily. Then he told Florent that his brother Quenu hadmoved from that street and had reopened his pork shop close by, in theRue Rambuteau, just in front of the markets. And afterwards he was againhighly amused to hear that Florent had been wandering about all thatmorning with Claude Lantier, an odd kind of fish, who, strangely enough, said he, was Madame Quenu's nephew. Thus chatting, Gavard was on thepoint of taking Florent straight to the pork shop, but, on hearing thathe had returned to France with false papers, he suddenly assumed allsorts of solemn and mysterious airs, and insisted upon walking somefifteen paces in front of him, to avoid attracting attention. Afterpassing through the poultry pavilion, where he hung his geese up in hisstall, he began to cross the Rue Rambuteau, still followed by Florent;and then, halting in the middle of the road, he glanced significantlytowards a large and well-appointed pork shop. 

The sun was obliquely enfilading the Rue Rambuteau, lighting up thefronts of the houses, in the midst of which the Rue Pirouette formed adark gap. At the other end the great pile of Saint Eustache glitteredbrightly in the sunlight like some huge reliquary. And right throughthe crowd, from the distant crossway, an army of street-sweepers wasadvancing in file down the road, the brooms swishing rhythmically, while scavengers provided with forks pitched the collected refuse intotumbrels, which at intervals of a score of paces halted with a noiselike the chattering of broken pots. However, all Florent's attention wasconcentrated on the pork shop, open and radiant in the rising sun. 

It stood very near the corner of the Rue Pirouette and provided quitea feast for the eyes. Its aspect was bright and smiling, touches ofbrilliant colour showing conspicuously amidst all the snowy marble. Thesign board, on which the name of QUENU-GRADELLE glittered in fatgilt letters encircled by leaves and branches painted on a soft-huedbackground, was protected by a sheet of glass. On two panels, one oneach side of the shop-front, and both, like the board above, coveredwith glass, were paintings representing various chubby little cupidsplaying amidst boars' heads, pork chops and strings of sausages; andthese latter still-life subjects, embellished with scrolls and bows, had been painted in such soft tones that the uncooked pork which theyrepresented had the pinkiness of raspberry jam. Within this pleasingframework arose the window display, arranged upon a bed of fineblue-paper shavings. Here and there fern-leaves, tastefully disposed, changed the plates which they encircled into bouquets fringed withfoliage. There was a wealth of rich, luscious, melting things. Downbelow, quite close to the window, jars of preserved sausage-meat wereinterspersed with pots of mustard. Above these were some small, plump, boned hams. Golden with their dressings of toasted bread-crumbs, andadorned at the knuckles with green rosettes. Next came the largerdishes, some containing preserved Strasburg tongues, enclosed inbladders coloured a bright red and varnished, so that they looked quitesanguineous beside the pale sausages and trotters; then there wereblack-puddings coiled like harmless snakes, healthy looking chitterlingspiled up two by two; Lyons sausages in little silver copes that madethem look like choristers; hot pies, with little banner-like ticketsstuck in them; big hams, and great glazed joints of veal and pork, whosejelly was as limpid as sugar-candy. In the rear were other dishes andearthen pans in which meat, minced and sliced, slumbered beneath lakesof melted fat. And betwixt the various plates and dishes, jars andbottle of sauce, cullis, stock and preserved truffles, pans of _foiegras_ and boxes of sardines and tunny-fish were strewn over the bed ofpaper shavings. A box of creamy cheeses, and one of edible snails, theapertures of whose shells were dressed with butter and parsley, had beenplaced carelessly at either corner. Finally, from a bar overhead stringsof sausages and saveloys of various sizes hung down symmetrically likecords and tassels; while in the rear fragments of intestinal membranesshowed like lacework, like some _guipure_ of white flesh. And on thehighest tier in this sanctuary of gluttony, amidst the membranes andbetween two bouquets of purple gladioli, the window stand was crownedby a small square aquarium, ornamented with rock-work, and containing acouple of gold-fish, which were continually swimming round it. 

Florent's whole body thrilled at the sight. Then he perceived a womanstanding in the sunlight at the door of the shop. With her prosperous, happy look in the midst of all those inviting things she added to thecherry aspect of the place. She was a fine woman and quite blocked thedoorway. Still, she was not over stout, but simply buxom, with the fullripeness of her thirty years. She had only just risen, yet her glossyhair was already brushed smooth and arranged in little flat bands overher temples, giving her an appearance of extreme neatness. She had thefine skin, the pinky-white complexion common to those whose life isspent in an atmosphere of raw meat and fat. There was a touch of gravityabout her demeanour, her movements were calm and slow; what mirth orpleasure she felt she expressed by her eyes, her lips retaining alltheir seriousness. A collar of starched linen encircled her neck, whitesleevelets reached to her elbows, and a white apron fell even over thetips of her shoes, so that you saw but little of her black cashmeredress, which clung tightly to her well-rounded shoulders and swellingbosom. The sun rays poured hotly upon all the whiteness she displayed. However, although her bluish-black hair, her rosy face, and brightsleeves and apron were steeped in the glow of light, she never onceblinked, but enjoyed her morning bath of sunshine with blissfultranquillity, her soft eyes smiling the while at the flow and riot ofthe markets. She had the appearance of a very worthy woman. 

"That is your brother's wife, your sister-in-law, Lisa, " Gavard said toFlorent. 

He had saluted her with a slight inclination of the head. Then he dartedalong the house passage, continuing to take the most minute precautions, and unwilling to let Florent enter the premises through the shop, thoughthere was no one there. It was evident that he felt great pleasure indabbling in what he considered to be a compromising business. 

"Wait here, " he said, "while I go to see whether your brother is alone. You can come in when I clap my hands. "

Thereupon he opened a door at the end of the passage. But as soon asFlorent heard his brother's voice behind it, he sprang inside at abound. Quenu, who was much attached to him, threw his arms round hisneck, and they kissed each other like children. 

"Ah! dash it all! Is it really you, my dear fellow?" stammered the porkbutcher. "I never expected to see you again. I felt sure you were dead!Why, only yesterday I was saying to Lisa, 'That poor fellow, Florent!'"

However, he stopped short, and popping his head into the shop, calledout, "Lisa! Lisa!" Then turning towards a little girl who had crept intoa corner, he added, "Pauline, go and find your mother. "

The little one did not stir, however. She was an extremely finechild, five years of age, with a plump chubby face, bearing a strongresemblance to that of the pork butcher's wife. In her arms she washolding a huge yellow cat, which had cheerfully surrendered itself toher embrace, with its legs dangling downwards; and she now squeezedit tightly with her little arms, as if she were afraid that yondershabby-looking gentleman might rob her of it. 

Lisa, however, leisurely made her appearance. 

"Here is my brother Florent!" exclaimed Quenu. 

Lisa addressed him as "Monsieur, " and gave him a kindly welcome. Shescanned him quietly from head to foot, without evincing any disagreeablesurprise. Merely a faint pout appeared for a moment on her lips. Then, standing by, she began to smile at her husband's demonstrations ofaffection. Quenu, however, at last recovered his calmness, and noticingFlorent's fleshless, poverty-stricken appearance, exclaimed: "Ah, mypoor fellow, you haven't improved in your looks since you were overyonder. For my part, I've grown fat; but what would you have!"

He had indeed grown fat, too fat for his thirty years. He seemed to bebursting through his shirt and apron, through all the snowy-white linenin which he was swathed like a huge doll. With advancing years hisclean-shaven face had become elongated, assuming a faint resemblance tothe snout of one of those pigs amidst whose flesh his hands worked andlived the whole day through. Florent scarcely recognised him. He had nowseated himself, and his glance turned from his brother to handsome Lisaand little Pauline. They were all brimful of health, squarely built, sleek, in prime condition; and in their turn they looked at Florent withthe uneasy astonishment which corpulent people feel at the sight of ascraggy person. The very cat, whose skin was distended by fat, dilatedits yellow eyes and scrutinised him with an air of distrust. 

"You'll wait till we have breakfast, won't you?" asked Quenu. "We haveit early, at ten o'clock. "

A penetrating odour of cookery pervaded the place; and Florent lookedback upon the terrible night which he had just spent, his arrivalamongst the vegetables, his agony in the midst of the markets, theendless avalanches of food from which he had just escaped. And then in alow tone and with a gentle smile he responded:

"No; I'm really very hungry, you see. "

CHAPTER II

Florent had just begun to study law in Paris when his mother died. Shelived at Le Vigan, in the department of the Gard, and had taken forher second husband one Quenu, a native of Yvetot in Normandy, whom somesub-prefect had transplanted to the south and then forgotten there. Hehad remained in employment at the sub-prefecture, finding the countrycharming, the wine good, and the women very amiable. Three years afterhis marriage he had been carried off by a bad attack of indigestion, leaving as sole legacy to his wife a sturdy boy who resembled him. Itwas only with very great difficulty that the widow could pay the collegefees of Florent, her elder son, the issue of her first marriage. Hewas a very gentle youth, devoted to his studies, and constantly won thechief prizes at school. It was upon him that his mother lavished all heraffection and based all her hopes. Perhaps, in bestowing so much love onthis slim pale youth, she was giving evidence of her preference for herfirst husband, a tender-hearted, caressing Provencal, who had lovedher devotedly. Quenu, whose good humour and amiability had at firstattracted her, had perhaps displayed too much self-satisfaction, andshown too plainly that he looked upon himself as the main sourceof happiness. At all events she formed the opinion that heryounger son--and in southern families younger sons are still oftensacrificed--would never do any good; so she contented herself withsending him to a school kept by a neighbouring old maid, where the ladlearned nothing but how to idle his time away. The two brothers grew upfar apart from each other, as though they were strangers. 

When Florent arrived at Le Vigan his mother was already buried. She hadinsisted upon having her illness concealed from him till the very lastmoment, for fear of disturbing his studies. Thus he found little Quenu, who was then twelve years old, sitting and sobbing alone on a table inthe middle of the kitchen. A furniture dealer, a neighbour, gave himparticulars of his mother's last hours. She had reached the end of herresources, had killed herself by the hard work which she had undertakento earn sufficient money that her elder son might continue his legalstudies. To her modest trade in ribbons, the profits of which were butsmall, she had been obliged to add other occupations, which kept herup very late at night. Her one idea of seeing Florent established as anadvocate, holding a good position in the town, had gradually caused herto become hard and miserly, without pity for either herself or others. Little Quenu was allowed to wander about in ragged breeches, and inblouses from which the sleeves were falling away. He never dared toserve himself at table, but waited till he received his allowance ofbread from his mother's hands. She gave herself equally thin slices, andit was to the effects of this regimen that she had succumbed, in deepdespair at having failed to accomplish her self-allotted task. 

This story made a most painful impression upon Florent's tender nature, and his sobs wellnigh choked him. He took his little half brother in hisarms, held him to his breast, and kissed him as though to restore to himthe love of which he had unwittingly deprived him. Then he looked at thelad's gaping shoes, torn sleeves, and dirty hands, at all the manifestsigns of wretchedness and neglect. And he told him that he would takehim away, and that they would both live happily together. The next day, when he began to inquire into affairs, he felt afraid that he would notbe able to keep sufficient money to pay for the journey back to Paris. However, he was determined to leave Le Vigan at any cost. He wasfortunately able to sell the little ribbon business, and this enabledhim to discharge his mother's debts, for despite her strictness in moneymatters she had gradually run up bills. Then, as there was nothing left, his mother's neighbour, the furniture dealer, offered him five hundredfrancs for her chattels and stock of linen. It was a very good bargainfor the dealer, but the young man thanked him with tears in his eyes. He bought his brother some new clothes, and took him away that sameevening. 

On his return to Paris he gave up all thought of continuing to attendthe Law School, and postponed every ambitious project. He obtained afew pupils, and established himself with little Quenu in the Rue RoyerCollard, at the corner of the Rue Saint Jacques, in a big room which hefurnished with two iron bedsteads, a wardrobe, a table, and four chairs. He now had a child to look after, and this assumed paternity was verypleasing to him. During the earlier days he attempted to give the ladsome lessons when he returned home in the evening, but Quenu was anunwilling pupil. He was dull of understanding, and refused to learn, bursting into tears and regretfully recalling the time when his motherhad allowed him to run wild in the streets. Florent thereupon stoppedhis lessons in despair, and to console the lad promised him a holiday ofindefinite length. As an excuse for his own weakness he repeated that hehad not brought his brother to Paris to distress him. To see him grow upin happiness became his chief desire. He quite worshipped the boy, wascharmed with his merry laughter, and felt infinite joy in seeing himabout him, healthy and vigorous, and without a care. Florent for hispart remained very slim and lean in his threadbare coat, and his facebegan to turn yellow amidst all the drudgery and worry of teaching; butQuenu grew up plump and merry, a little dense, indeed, and scarce ableto read or write, but endowed with high spirits which nothing couldruffle, and which filled the big gloomy room in the Rue Royer Collardwith gaiety. 

Years, meantime, passed by. Florent, who had inherited all his mother'sspirit of devotion, kept Quenu at home as though he were a big, idlegirl. He did not even suffer him to perform any petty domestic duties, but always went to buy the provisions himself, and attended to thecooking and other necessary matters. This kept him, he said, fromindulging in his own bad thoughts. He was given to gloominess, andfancied that he was disposed to evil. When he returned home in theevening, splashed with mud, and his head bowed by the annoyances towhich other people's children had subjected him, his heart meltedbeneath the embrace of the sturdy lad whom he found spinning his topon the tiled flooring of the big room. Quenu laughed at his brother'sclumsiness in making omelettes, and at the serious fashion in which heprepared the soup-beef and vegetables. When the lamp was extinguished, and Florent lay in bed, he sometimes gave way to feelings of sadness. Helonged to resume his legal studies, and strove to map out his duties insuch wise as to secure time to follow the programme of the faculty. He succeeded in doing this, and was then perfectly happy. But a slightattack of fever, which confined him to his room for a week, made such ahole in his purse, and caused him so much alarm, that he abandoned allidea of completing his studies. The boy was now getting a bigfellow, and Florent took a post as teacher in a school in the Rue del'Estrapade, at a salary of eighteen hundred francs per annum. Thisseemed like a fortune to him. By dint of economy he hoped to be able toamass a sum of money which would set Quenu going in the world. When thelad reached his eighteenth year Florent still treated him as though hewere a daughter for whom a dowry must be provided. 

However, during his brother's brief illness Quenu himself had madecertain reflections. One morning he proclaimed his desire to work, saying that he was now old enough to earn his own living. Florent wasdeeply touched at this. Just opposite, on the other side of the street, lived a working watchmaker whom Quenu, through the curtainless window, could see leaning over a little table, manipulating all sorts ofdelicate things, and patiently gazing at them through a magnifying glassall day long. The lad was much attracted by the sight, and declared thathe had a taste for watchmaking. At the end of a fortnight, however, hebecame restless, and began to cry like a child of ten, complainingthat the work was too complicated, and that he would never be able tounderstand all the silly little things that enter into the constructionof a watch. 

His next whim was to be a locksmith; but this calling he found toofatiguing. In a couple of years he tried more than ten different trades. Florent opined that he acted rightly, that it was wrong to take up acalling one did not like. However, Quenu's fine eagerness to work forhis living strained the resources of the little establishment veryseriously. Since he had begun flitting from one workshop to anotherthere had been a constant succession of fresh expenses; money had gonein new clothes, in meals taken away from home, and in the payment offootings among fellow workmen. Florent's salary of eighteen hundredfrancs was no longer sufficient, and he was obliged to take a coupleof pupils in the evenings. For eight years he had continued to wear thesame old coat. 

However, the two brothers had made a friend. One side of the house inwhich they lived overlooked the Rue Saint Jacques, where there was alarge poultry-roasting establishment[*] kept by a worthy man calledGavard, whose wife was dying from consumption amidst an atmosphereredolent of plump fowls. When Florent returned home too late to cook ascrap of meat, he was in the habit of laying out a dozen sous or so ona small portion of turkey or goose at this shop. Such days were feastdays. Gavard in time grew interested in this tall, scraggy customer, learned his history, and invited Quenu into his shop. Before long theyoung fellow was constantly to be found there. As soon as his brotherleft the house he came downstairs and installed himself at the rearof the roasting shop, quite enraptured with the four huge spits whichturned with a gentle sound in front of the tall bright flames. 

 [*] These rotisseries, now all but extinct, were at one time a particular feature of the Parisian provision trade. I can myself recollect several akin to the one described by M. Zola. I suspect that they largely owed their origin to the form and dimensions of the ordinary Parisian kitchen stove, which did not enable people to roast poultry at home in a convenient way. In the old French cuisine, moreover, roast joints of meat were virtually unknown; roasting was almost entirely confined to chickens, geese, turkeys, pheasants, etc. ; and among the middle classes people largely bought their poultry already cooked of the _rotisseur_, or else confided it to him for the purpose of roasting, in the same way as our poorer classes still send their joints to the baker's. Roasting was also long looked upon in France as a very delicate art. Brillat-Savarin, in his famous _Physiologie du Gout_, lays down the dictum that "A man may become a cook, but is born a _rotisseur_. "--Translator. 

The broad copper bands of the fireplace glistened brightly, the poultrysteamed, the fat bubbled melodiously in the dripping-pan, and the spitsseemed to talk amongst themselves and to address kindly words to Quenu, who, with a long ladle, devoutly basted the golden breasts of the fatgeese and turkeys. He would stay there for hours, quite crimson in thedancing glow of the flames, and laughing vaguely, with a somewhat stupidexpression, at the birds roasting in front of him. Indeed, he didnot awake from this kind of trance until the geese and turkeys wereunspitted. They were placed on dishes, the spits emerged from theircarcasses smoking hot, and a rich gravy flowed from either end andfilled the shop with a penetrating odour. Then the lad, who, standingup, had eagerly followed every phase of the dishing, would clap hishands and begin to talk to the birds, telling them that they were verynice, and would be eaten up, and that the cats would have nothing buttheir bones. And he would give a start of delight whenever Gavard handedhim a slice of bread, which he forthwith put into the dripping-pan thatit might soak and toast there for half an hour. 

It was in this shop, no doubt, that Quenu's love of cookery took itsbirth. Later on, when he had tried all sorts of crafts, he returned, as though driven by fate, to the spits and the poultry and the savourygravy which induces one to lick one's fingers. At first he was afraidof vexing his brother, who was a small eater and spoke of good fare withthe disdain of a man who is ignorant of it; but afterwards, on seeingthat Florent listened to him when he explained the preparation of somevery elaborate dish, he confessed his desires and presently found asituation at a large restaurant. From that time forward the life of thetwo brothers was settled. They continued to live in the room in the RueRoyer Collard, whither they returned every evening; the one glowing andradiant from his hot fire, the other with the depressed countenance ofa shabby, impecunious teacher. Florent still wore his old black coat, ashe sat absorbed in correcting his pupils' exercises; while Quenu, toput himself more at ease, donned his white apron, cap, and jacket, and, flitting about in front of the stove, amused himself by baking somedainty in the oven. Sometimes they smiled at seeing themselves thusattired, the one all in black, the other all in white. These differentgarbs, one bright and the other sombre, seemed to make the big room halfgay and half mournful. Never, however, was there so much harmony in ahousehold marked by such dissimilarity. Though the elder brother grewthinner and thinner, consumed by the ardent temperament which he hadinherited from his Provencal father, and the younger one waxed fatterand fatter like a true son of Normandy, they loved each other in thebrotherhood they derived from their mother--a mother who had been alldevotion. 

They had a relation in Paris, a brother of their mother's, one Gradelle, who was in business as a pork butcher in the Rue Pirouette, nearthe central markets. He was a fat, hard-hearted, miserly fellow, andreceived his nephews as though they were starving paupers the first timethey paid him a visit. They seldom went to see him afterwards. Onhis nameday Quenu would take him a bunch of flowers, and receive ahalf-franc piece in return for it. Florent's proud and sensitive naturesuffered keenly when Gradelle scrutinised his shabby clothes with theanxious, suspicious glance of a miser apprehending a request for adinner, or the loan of a five-franc piece. One day, however, it occurredto Florent in all artlessness to ask his uncle to change a hundred-francnote for him, and after this the pork butcher showed less alarm at sightof the lads, as he called them. Still, their friendship got no furtherthan these infrequent visits. 

These years were like a long, sweet, sad dream to Florent. As theypassed he tasted to the full all the bitter joys of self-sacrifice. Athome, in the big room, life was all love and tenderness; but out in theworld, amidst the humiliations inflicted on him by his pupils, andthe rough jostling of the streets, he felt himself yielding to wickedthoughts. His slain ambitions embittered him. It was long before hecould bring himself to bow to his fate, and accept with equanimity thepainful lot of a poor, plain, commonplace man. At last, to guard againstthe temptations of wickedness, he plunged into ideal goodness, andsought refuge in a self-created sphere of absolute truth and justice. Itwas then that he became a republican, entering into the republican ideaeven as heart-broken girls enter a convent. And not finding a republicwhere sufficient peace and kindliness prevailed to lull his troubles tosleep, he created one for himself. He took no pleasure in books. Allthe blackened paper amidst which he lived spoke of evil-smellingclass-rooms, of pellets of paper chewed by unruly schoolboys, of long, profitless hours of torture. Besides, books only suggested to him aspirit of mutiny and pride, whereas it was of peace and oblivion that hefelt most need. To lull and soothe himself with the ideal imaginings, todream that he was perfectly happy, and that all the world would likewisebecome so, to erect in his brain the republican city in which he wouldfain have lived, such now became his recreation, the task, again andagain renewed, of all his leisure hours. He no longer read any booksbeyond those which his duties compelled him to peruse; he preferredto tramp along the Rue Saint Jacques as far as the outer boulevards, occasionally going yet a greater distance and returning by the Barriered'Italie; and all along the road, with his eyes on the QuartierMouffetard spread out at his feet, he would devise reforms of greatmoral and humanitarian scope, such as he thought would change that cityof suffering into an abode of bliss. During the turmoil of February1848, when Paris was stained with blood he became quite heartbroken, andrushed from one to another of the public clubs demanding that the bloodwhich had been shed should find atonement in "the fraternal embraceof all republicans throughout the world. " He became one of thoseenthusiastic orators who preached revolution as a new religion, full ofgentleness and salvation. The terrible days of December 1851, the daysof the Coup d'Etat, were required to wean him from his doctrines ofuniversal love. He was then without arms; allowed himself to be capturedlike a sheep, and was treated as though he were a wolf. He awoke fromhis sermon on universal brotherhood to find himself starving on the coldstones of a casemate at Bicetre. 

Quenu, when two and twenty, was distressed with anguish when his brotherdid not return home. On the following day he went to seek his corpse atthe cemetery of Montmartre, where the bodies of those shot down on theboulevards had been laid out in a line and covered with straw, frombeneath which only their ghastly heads projected. However, Quenu'scourage failed him, he was blinded by his tears, and had to pass twicealong the line of corpses before acquiring the certainty that Florent'swas not among them. At last, at the end of a long and wretched week, helearned at the Prefecture of Police that his brother was a prisoner. Hewas not allowed to see him, and when he pressed the matter the policethreatened to arrest him also. Then he hastened off to his uncleGradelle, whom he looked upon as a person of importance, hoping that hemight be able to enlist his influence in Florent's behalf. But Gradellewaxed wrathful, declared that Florent deserved his fate, that he oughtto have known better than to have mixed himself up with those rascallyrepublicans. And he even added that Florent was destined to turn outbadly, that it was written on his face. 

Quenu wept copiously and remained there, almost choked by his sobs. Hisuncle, a little ashamed of his harshness, and feeling that he ought todo something for him, offered to receive him into his house. He wantedan assistant, and knew that his nephew was a good cook. Quenu was somuch alarmed by the mere thought of going back to live alone in thebig room in the Rue Royer Collard, that then and there he acceptedGradelle's offer. That same night he slept in his uncle's house, ina dark hole of a garret just under the room, where there was scarcelyspace for him to lie at full length. However, he was less wretched therethan he would have been opposite his brother's empty couch. 

He succeeded at length in obtaining permission to see Florent; but onhis return from Bicetre he was obliged to take to his bed. For nearlythree weeks he lay fever-stricken, in a stupefied, comatose state. Gradelle meantime called down all sorts of maledictions on hisrepublican nephew; and one morning, when he heard of Florent's departurefor Cayenne, he went upstairs, tapped Quenu on the hands, awoke him, andbluntly told him the news, thereby bringing about such a reaction thaton the following day the young man was up and about again. His griefwore itself out, and his soft flabby flesh seemed to absorb his tears. A month later he laughed again, and then grew vexed and unhappy withhimself for having been merry; but his natural light-heartedness soongained the mastery, and he laughed afresh in unconscious happiness. 

He now learned his uncle's business, from which he derived even moreenjoyment than from cookery. Gradelle told him, however, that he mustnot neglect his pots and pans, that it was rare to find a pork butcherwho was also a good cook, and that he had been lucky in serving in arestaurant before coming to the shop. Gradelle, moreover, made full useof his nephew's acquirements, employed him to cook the dinners sent outto certain customers, and placed all the broiling, and the preparationof pork chops garnished with gherkins in his special charge. As theyoung man was of real service to him, he grew fond of him after hisown fashion, and would nip his plump arms when he was in a good humour. Gradelle had sold the scanty furniture of the room in the Rue RoyerCollard and retained possession of the proceeds--some forty francs orso--in order, said he, to prevent the foolish lad, Quenu, from makingducks and drakes of the cash. After a time, however, he allowed hisnephew six francs a month a pocket-money. 

Quenu now became quite happy, in spite of the emptiness of his purse andthe harshness with which he was occasionally treated. He liked to havelife doled out to him; Florent had treated him too much like an indolentgirl. Moreover, he had made a friend at his uncle's. Gradelle, when hiswife died, had been obliged to engage a girl to attend to the shop, andhad taken care to choose a healthy and attractive one, knowing that agood-looking girl would set off his viands and help to tempt custom. Amongst his acquaintances was a widow, living in the Rue Cuvier, nearthe Jardin des Plantes, whose deceased husband had been postmaster atPlassans, the seat of a sub-prefecture in the south of France. Thislady, who lived in a very modest fashion on a small annuity, had broughtwith her from Plassans a plump, pretty child, whom she treated as herown daughter. Lisa, as the young one was called, attended upon her withmuch placidity and serenity of disposition. Somewhat seriously inclined, she looked quite beautiful when she smiled. Indeed, her great charm camefrom the exquisite manner in which she allowed this infrequent smileof hers to escape her. Her eyes then became most caressing, and herhabitual gravity imparted inestimable value to these sudden, seductiveflashes. The old lady had often said that one of Lisa's smiles wouldsuffice to lure her to perdition. 

When the widow died she left all her savings, amounting to some tenthousand francs, to her adopted daughter. For a week Lisa lived alone inthe Rue Cuvier; it was there that Gradelle came in search of her. He hadbecome acquainted with her by often seeing her with her mistress whenthe latter called on him in the Rue Pirouette; and at the funeralshe had struck him as having grown so handsome and sturdy that he hadfollowed the hearse all the way to the cemetery, though he had notintended to do so. As the coffin was being lowered into the grave, hereflected what a splendid girl she would be for the counter of a porkbutcher's shop. He thought the matter over, and finally resolved tooffer her thirty francs a month, with board and lodging. When he madethis proposal, Lisa asked for twenty-four hours to consider it. Thenshe arrived one morning with a little bundle of clothes, and her tenthousand francs concealed in the bosom of her dress. A month later thewhole place belonged to her; she enslaved Gradelle, Quenu, and even thesmallest kitchen-boy. For his part, Quenu would have cut off his fingersto please her. When she happened to smile, he remained rooted to thefloor, laughing with delight as he gazed at her. 

Lisa was the eldest daughter of the Macquarts of Plassans, and herfather was still alive. [*] But she said that he was abroad, and neverwrote to him. Sometimes she just dropped a hint that her mother, nowdeceased, had been a hard worker, and that she took after her. Sheworked, indeed, very assiduously. However, she sometimes added thatthe worthy woman had slaved herself to death in striving to support herfamily. Then she would speak of the respective duties of husband andwife in such a practical though modest fashion as to enchant Quenu. Heassured her that he fully shared her ideas. These were that everyone, man or woman, ought to work for his or her living, that everyone wascharged with the duty of achieving personal happiness, that great harmwas done by encouraging habits of idleness, and that the presence of somuch misery in the world was greatly due to sloth. This theory of herswas a sweeping condemnation of drunkenness, of all the legendary loafingways of her father Macquart. But, though she did not know it, there wasmuch of Macquart's nature in herself. She was merely a steady, sensibleMacquart with a logical desire for comfort, having grasped the truthof the proverb that as you make your bed so you lie on it. To sleep inblissful warmth there is no better plan than to prepare oneself a softand downy couch; and to the preparation of such a couch she gave allher time and all her thoughts. When no more than six years old shehad consented to remain quietly on her chair the whole day through oncondition that she should be rewarded with a cake in the evening. 

[*] See M. Zola's novel, _The Fortune of the Rougons_. --Translator

At Gradelle's establishment Lisa went on leading the calm, methodicallife which her exquisite smiles illumined. She had not accepted the porkbutcher's offer at random. She reckoned upon finding a guardian in him;with the keen scent of those who are born lucky she perhaps foresaw thatthe gloomy shop in the Rue Pirouette would bring her the comfortablefuture she dreamed of--a life of healthy enjoyment, and work withoutfatigue, each hour of which would bring its own reward. She attended toher counter with the quiet earnestness with which she had waited uponthe postmaster's widow; and the cleanliness of her aprons soon becameproverbial in the neighbourhood. Uncle Gradelle was so charmed with thispretty girl that sometimes, as he was stringing his sausages, he wouldsay to Quenu: "Upon my word, if I weren't turned sixty, I think I shouldbe foolish enough to marry her. A wife like she'd make is worth herweight in gold to a shopkeeper, my lad. "

Quenu himself was growing still fonder of her, though he laughed merrilyone day when a neighbour accused him of being in love with Lisa. He wasnot worried with love-sickness. The two were very good friends, however. In the evening they went up to their bedrooms together. Lisa slept in alittle chamber adjoining the dark hole which the young man occupied. She had made this room of hers quite bright by hanging it with muslincurtains. The pair would stand together for a moment on the landing, holding their candles in their hands, and chatting as they unlockedtheir doors. Then, as they closed them, they said in friendly tones:

"Good night, Mademoiselle Lisa. "

"Good night, Monsieur Quenu. "

As Quenu undressed himself he listened to Lisa making her ownpreparations. The partition between the two rooms was very thin. "There, she is drawing her curtains now, " he would say to himself; "what can shebe doing, I wonder, in front of her chest of drawers? Ah! she's sittingdown now and taking off her shoes. Now she's blown her candle out. Well, good night. I must get to sleep"; and at times, when he heard her bedcreak as she got into it, he would say to himself with a smile, "Dashit all! Mademoiselle Lisa is no feather. " This idea seemed to amuse him, and presently he would fall asleep thinking about the hams and salt porkthat he had to prepare the next morning. 

This state of affairs went on for a year without causing Lisa a singleblush or Quenu a moment's embarrassment. When the girl came into thekitchen in the morning at the busiest moment of the day's work, theygrasped hands over the dishes of sausage-meat. Sometimes she helped him, holding the skins with her plump fingers while he filled them with meatand fat. Sometimes, too, with the tips of their tongues they just tastedthe raw sausage-meat, to see if it was properly seasoned. She was ableto give Quenu some useful hints, for she knew of many favourite southernrecipes, with which he experimented with much success. He was oftenaware that she was standing behind his shoulder, prying into the pans. If he wanted a spoon or a dish, she would hand it to him. The heat ofthe fire would bring their blood to their skins; still, nothing inthe world would have induced the young man to cease stirring the fatty_bouillis_ which were thickening over the fire while the girl stoodgravely by him, discussing the amount of boiling that was necessary. In the afternoon, when the shop lacked customers, they quietly chattedtogether for hours at a time. Lisa sat behind the counter, leaning back, and knitting in an easy, regular fashion; while Quenu installed himselfon a big oak block, dangling his legs and tapping his heels against thewood. They got on wonderfully well together, discussing all sorts ofsubjects, generally cookery, and then Uncle Gradelle and the neighbours. Lisa also amused the young man with stories, just as though he were achild. She knew some very pretty ones--some miraculous legends, full oflambs and little angels, which she narrated in a piping voice, with allher wonted seriousness. If a customer happened to come in, she savedherself the trouble of moving by asking Quenu to get the required pot oflard or box of snails. And at eleven o'clock they went slowly up tobed as on the previous night. As they closed their doors, they calmlyrepeated the words:

"Good night, Mademoiselle Lisa. "

"Good night, Monsieur Quenu. "

One morning Uncle Gradelle was struck dead by apoplexy while preparinga galantine. He fell forward, with his face against the chopping-block. Lisa did not lose her self-possession. She remarked that the dead mancould not be left lying in the middle of the kitchen, and had the bodyremoved into a little back room where Gradelle had slept. Then shearranged with the assistants what should be said. It must be given outthat the master had died in his bed; otherwise the whole district wouldbe disgusted, and the shop would lose its customers. Quenu helped tocarry the dead man away, feeling quite confused, and astonished atbeing unable to shed any tears. Presently, however, he and Lisa criedtogether. Quenu and his brother Florent were the sole heirs. The gossipsof the neighbourhood credited old Gradelle with the possession of aconsiderable fortune. However, not a single crown could be discovered. Lisa seemed very restless and uneasy. Quenu noticed how pensive shebecame, how she kept on looking around her from morning till night, asthough she had lost something. At last she decided to have a thoroughcleaning of the premises, declaring that people were beginning to talk, that the story of the old man's death had got about, and that it wasnecessary they should make a great show of cleanliness. One afternoon, after remaining in the cellar for a couple of hours, whither she herselfhad gone to wash the salting-tubs, she came up again, carrying somethingin her apron. Quenu was just then cutting up a pig's fry. She waitedtill he had finished, talking awhile in an easy, indifferent fashion. But there was an unusual glitter in her eyes, and she smiled her mostcharming smile as she told him that she wanted to speak to him. She ledthe way upstairs with seeming difficulty, impeded by what she had in herapron, which was strained almost to bursting. 

By the time she reached the third floor she found herself short ofbreath, and for a moment was obliged to lean against the balustrade. Quenu, much astonished, followed her into her bedroom without saying aword. It was the first time she had ever invited him to enter it. Sheclosed the door, and letting go the corners of her apron, which herstiffened fingers could no longer hold up, she allowed a stream of goldand silver coins to flow gently upon her bed. She had discovered UncleGradelle's treasure at the bottom of a salting-tub. The heap of moneymade a deep impression in the softy downy bed. 

Lisa and Quenu evinced a quiet delight. They sat down on the edge of thebed, Lisa at the head and Quenu at the foot, on either side of the heapof coins, and they counted the money out upon the counterpane, so as toavoid making any noise. There were forty thousand francs in gold, andthree thousand francs in silver, whilst in a tin box they found banknotes to the value of forty-two thousand francs. It took them two hoursto count up the treasure. Quenu's hands trembled slightly, and it wasLisa who did most of the work. 

They arranged the gold on the pillow in little heaps, leaving the silverin the hollow depression of the counterpane. When they had ascertainedthe total amount--eighty-five thousand francs, to them an enormoussum--they began to chat. And their conversation naturally turned upontheir future, and they spoke of their marriage, although there had neverbeen any previous mention of love between them. But this heap of moneyseemed to loosen their tongues. They had gradually seated themselvesfurther back on the bed, leaning against the wall, beneath the whitemuslin curtains; and as they talked together, their hands, playing withthe heap of silver between them, met, and remained linked amidstthe pile of five-franc pieces. Twilight surprised them still sittingtogether. Then, for the first time, Lisa blushed at finding the youngman by her side. For a few moments, indeed, although not a thought ofevil had come to them, they felt much embarrassed. Then Lisa went toget her own ten thousand francs. Quenu wanted her to put them with hisuncle's savings. He mixed the two sums together, saying with a laughthat the money must be married also. Then it was agreed that Lisa shouldkeep the hoard in her chest of drawers. When she had locked it up theyboth quietly went downstairs. They were now practically husband andwife. 

The wedding took place during the following month. The neighboursconsidered the match a very natural one, and in every way suitable. Theyhad vaguely heard the story of the treasure, and Lisa's honesty was thesubject of endless eulogy. After all, said the gossips, she might wellhave kept the money herself, and not have spoken a word to Quenu aboutit; if she had spoken, it was out of pure honesty, for no one had seenher find the hoard. She well deserved, they added, that Quenu shouldmake her his wife. That Quenu, by the way, was a lucky fellow; hewasn't a beauty himself, yet he had secured a beautiful wife, who haddisinterred a fortune for him. Some even went so far as to whisper thatLisa was a simpleton for having acted as she had done; but the youngwoman only smiled when people speaking to her vaguely alluded to allthese things. She and her husband lived on as previously, in happyplacidity and quiet affection. She still assisted him as before, theirhands still met amidst the sausage-meat, she still glanced over hisshoulder into the pots and pans, and still nothing but the great fire inthe kitchen brought the blood to their cheeks. 

However, Lisa was a woman of practical common sense, and speedily sawthe folly of allowing eighty-five thousand francs to lie idle in a chestof drawers. Quenu would have willingly stowed them away again at thebottom of the salting-tub until he had gained as much more, when theycould have retired from business and have gone to live at Suresnes, asuburb to which both were partial. Lisa, however, had other ambitions. The Rue Pirouette did not accord with her ideas of cleanliness, hercraving for fresh air, light, and healthy life. The shop where UncleGradelle had accumulated his fortune, sou by sou, was a long, darkplace, one of those suspicious looking pork butchers' shops of the oldquarters of the city, where the well-worn flagstones retain a strongodour of meat in spite of constant washings. Now the young woman longedfor one of those bright modern shops, ornamented like a drawing-room, and fringing the footway of some broad street with windows ofcrystalline transparence. She was not actuated by any petty ambition toplay the fine lady behind a stylish counter, but clearly realised thatcommerce in its latest development needed elegant surroundings. Quenushowed much alarm the first time his wife suggested that they ought tomove and spend some of their money in decorating a new shop. However, Lisa only shrugged her shoulders and smiled at finding him so timorous. 

One evening, when night was falling and the shop had grown dark, Quenuand Lisa overheard a woman of the neighbourhood talking to a friendoutside their door. 

"No, indeed! I've given up dealing with them, " said she. "I wouldn't buya bit of black-pudding from them now on any account. They had a dead manin their kitchen, you know. "

Quenu wept with vexation. The story of Gradelle's death in the kitchenwas clearly getting about; and his nephew began to blush before hiscustomers when he saw them sniffing his wares too closely. So, of hisown accord, he spoke to his wife of her proposal to take a new shop. Lisa, without saying anything, had already been looking out for otherpremises, and had found some, admirably situated, only a few yardsaway, in the Rue Rambuteau. The immediate neighbourhood of the centralmarkets, which were being opened just opposite, would triple theirbusiness, and make their shop known all over Paris. 

Quenu allowed himself to be drawn into a lavish expenditure of money; helaid out over thirty thousand francs in marble, glass, and gilding. Lisa spent hours with the workmen, giving her views about the slightestdetails. When she was at last installed behind the counter, customersarrived in a perfect procession, merely for the sake of examining theshop. The inside walls were lined from top to bottom with white marble. The ceiling was covered with a huge square mirror, framed by a broadgilded cornice, richly ornamented, whilst from the centre hung a crystalchandelier with four branches. And behind the counter, and on the left, and at the far end of the shop were other mirrors, fitted between themarble panels and looking like doors opening into an infinite seriesof brightly lighted halls, where all sorts of appetising edibles weredisplayed. The huge counter on the right hand was considered a very finepiece of work. At intervals along the front were lozenge-shaped panelsof pinky marble. The flooring was of tiles, alternately white and pink, with a deep red fretting as border. The whole neighbourhood was proudof the shop, and no one again thought of referring to the kitchen inthe Rue Pirouette, where a man had died. For quite a month women stoppedshort on the footway to look at Lisa between the saveloys and bladdersin the window. Her white and pink flesh excited as much admiration asthe marbles. She seemed to be the soul, the living light, the healthy, sturdy idol of the pork trade; and thenceforth one and all baptised her"Lisa the beauty. "

To the right of the shop was the dining-room, a neat looking apartmentcontaining a sideboard, a table, and several cane-seated chairs of lightoak. The matting on the floor, the wallpaper of a soft yellow tint, theoil-cloth table-cover, coloured to imitate oak, gave the room a somewhatcold appearance, which was relieved only by the glitter of a brasshanging lamp, suspended from the ceiling, and spreading its big shadeof transparent porcelain over the table. One of the dining-room doorsopened into the huge square kitchen, at the end of which was a smallpaved courtyard, serving for the storage of lumber--tubs, barrelsand pans, and all kinds of utensils not in use. To the left of thewater-tap, alongside the gutter which carried off the greasy water, stood pots of faded flowers, removed from the shop window, and slowlydying. 

Business was excellent. Quenu, who had been much alarmed by the initialoutlay, now regarded his wife with something like respect, and told hisfriends that she had "a wonderful head. " At the end of five years theyhad nearly eighty thousand francs invested in the State funds. Lisawould say that they were not ambitious, that they had no desire to pileup money too quickly, or else she would have enabled her husband togain hundreds and thousands of francs by prompting him to embark in thewholesale pig trade. But they were still young, and had plenty oftime before them; besides, they didn't care about a rough, scramblingbusiness, but preferred to work at their ease, and enjoy life, insteadof wearing themselves out with endless anxieties. 

"For instance, " Lisa would add in her expansive moments, "I have, youknow, a cousin in Paris. I never see him, as the two families havefallen out. He has taken the name of Saccard, [*] on account of certainmatters which he wants to be forgotten. Well, this cousin of mine, I'mtold, makes millions and millions of francs; but he gets no enjoymentout of life. He's always in a state of feverish excitement, alwaysrushing hither and thither, up to his neck in all sorts of worryingbusiness. Well, it's impossible, isn't it, for such a man to eat hisdinner peaceably in the evening? We, at any rate, can take our mealscomfortably, and make sure of what we eat, and we are not harassed byworries as he is. The only reason why people should care for moneyis that money's wanted for one to live. People like comfort; that'snatural. But as for making money simply for the sake of making it, andgiving yourself far more trouble and anxiety to gain it than you canever get pleasure from it when it's gained, why, as for me, I'd rathersit still and cross my arms. And besides, I should like to see all thosemillions of my cousin's. I can't say that I altogether believe inthem. I caught sight of him the other day in his carriage. He was quiteyellow, and looked ever so sly. A man who's making money doesn't havethat kind of expression. But it's his business, and not mine. For ourpart, we prefer to make merely a hundred sous at a time, and to get ahundred sous' worth of enjoyment out of them. "

[*] See M. Zola's novel, _Money_. 

The household was undoubtedly thriving. A daughter had been born to theyoung couple during their first year of wedlock, and all three ofthem looked blooming. The business went on prosperously, without anylaborious fatigue, just as Lisa desired. She had carefully kept free ofany possible source of trouble or anxiety, and the days went by in anatmosphere of peaceful, unctuous prosperity. Their home was a nook ofsensible happiness--a comfortable manger, so to speak, where father, mother, and daughter could grow sleek and fat. It was only Quenu whooccasionally felt sad, through thinking of his brother Florent. Up tothe year 1856 he had received letters from him at long intervals. Thenno more came, and he had learned from a newspaper that three convictshaving attempted to escape from the Ile du Diable, had been drownedbefore they were able to reach the mainland. He had made inquiriesat the Prefecture of Police, but had not learnt anything definite; itseemed probable that his brother was dead. However, he did not loseall hope, though months passed without any tidings. Florent, in themeantime, was wandering about Dutch Guiana, and refrained from writinghome as he was ever in hope of being able to return to France. Quenu atlast began to mourn for him as one mourns for those whom one has beenunable to bid farewell. Lisa had never known Florent, but she spokevery kindly whenever she saw her husband give way to his sorrow; andshe evinced no impatience when for the hundredth time or so he began torelate stories of his early days, of his life in the big room in theRue Royer Collard, the thirty-six trades which he had taken up one afteranother, and the dainties which he had cooked at the stove, dressed allin white, while Florent was dressed all in black. To such talk as this, indeed, she listened placidly, with a complacency which never wearied. 

It was into the midst of all this happiness, ripening after carefulculture, that Florent dropped one September morning just as Lisa wastaking her matutinal bath of sunshine, and Quenu, with his eyes stillheavy with sleep, was lazily applying his fingers to the congealed fatleft in the pans from the previous evening. Florent's arrival causeda great commotion. Gavard advised them to conceal the "outlaw, " ashe somewhat pompously called Florent. Lisa, who looked pale, and moreserious than was her wont, at last took him to the fifth floor, whereshe gave him the room belonging to the girl who assisted her in theshop. Quenu had cut some slices of bread and ham, but Florent wasscarcely able to eat. He was overcome by dizziness and nausea, and wentto bed, where he remained for five days in a state of delirium, the outcome of an attack of brain-fever, which fortunately receivedenergetic treatment. When he recovered consciousness he perceived Lisasitting by his bedside, silently stirring some cooling drink in a cup. As he tried to thank her, she told him that he must keep perfectlyquiet, and that they could talk together later on. At the end of anotherthree days Florent was on his feet again. Then one morning Quenu went upto tell him that Lisa awaited them in her room on the first floor. 

Quenu and his wife there occupied a suite of three rooms and adressing-room. You first passed through an antechamber, containingnothing but chairs, and then a small sitting-room, whose furniture, shrouded in white covers, slumbered in the gloom cast by the Venetianshutters, which were always kept closed so as to prevent the light blueof the upholstery from fading. Then came the bedroom, the only one ofthe three which was really used. It was very comfortably furnished inmahogany. The bed, bulky and drowsy of aspect in the depths of thedamp alcove, was really wonderful, with its four mattresses, its fourpillows, its layers of blankets, and its corpulent _edredon_. It wasevidently a bed intended for slumber. A mirrored wardrobe, a washstandwith drawers, a small central table with a worked cover, and severalchairs whose seats were protected by squares of lace, gave the room anaspect of plain but substantial middle-class luxury. On the left-handwall, on either side of the mantelpiece, which was ornamented with somelandscape-painted vases mounted on bronze stands, and a gilt timepieceon which a figure of Gutenberg, also gilt, stood in an attitude ofdeep thought, hung portraits in oils of Quenu and Lisa, in ornateoval frames. Quenu had a smiling face, while Lisa wore an air of gravepropriety; and both were dressed in black and depicted in flatteringfashion, their features idealised, their skins wondrously smooth, their complexions soft and pinky. A carpet, in the Wilton style, witha complicated pattern of roses mingling with stars, concealed theflooring; while in front of the bed was a fluffy mat, made out of longpieces of curly wool, a work of patience at which Lisa herself hadtoiled while seated behind her counter. But the most striking objectof all in the midst of this array of new furniture was a great square, thick-set secretaire, which had been re-polished in vain, for the cracksand notches in the marble top and the scratches on the old mahoganyfront, quite black with age, still showed plainly. Lisa had desired toretain this piece of furniture, however, as Uncle Gradelle had used itfor more than forty years. It would bring them good luck, she said. It'smetal fastenings were truly something terrible, it's lock was like thatof a prison gate, and it was so heavy that it could scarcely be moved. 

When Florent and Quenu entered the room they found Lisa seated at thelowered desk of the secretaire, writing and putting down figures in abig, round, and very legible hand. She signed to them not to disturbher, and the two men sat down. Florent looked round the room, andnotably at the two portraits, the bed and the timepiece, with an air ofsurprise. 

"There!" at last exclaimed Lisa, after having carefully verified a wholepage of calculations. "Listen to me now; we have an account to render toyou, my dear Florent. "

It was the first time that she had so addressed him. However, taking upthe page of figures, she continued: "Your Uncle Gradelle died withoutleaving a will. Consequently you and your brother are his sole heirs. Wenow have to hand your share over to you. "

"But I do not ask you for anything!" exclaimed Florent, "I don't wishfor anything!"

Quenu had apparently been in ignorance of his wife's intentions. Heturned rather pale and looked at her with an expression of displeasure. Of course, he certainly loved his brother dearly; but there was nooccasion to hurl his uncle's money at him in this way. There would havebeen plenty of time to go into the matter later on. 

"I know very well, my dear Florent, " continued Lisa, "that you did notcome back with the intention of claiming from us what belongs to you;but business is business, you know, and we had better get things settledat once. Your uncle's savings amounted to eighty-five thousand francs. Ihave therefore put down forty-two thousand five hundred to your credit. See!"

She showed him the figures on the sheet of paper. 

"It is unfortunately not so easy to value the shop, plant, stock-in-trade, and goodwill. I have only been able to put downapproximate amounts, but I don't think I have underestimated anything. Well, the total valuation which I have made comes to fifteen thousandthree hundred and ten francs; your half of which is seven thousand sixhundred and fifty-five francs, so that your share amounts, in all, tofifty thousand one hundred and fifty-five francs. Please verify it foryourself, will you?"

She had called out the figures in a clear, distinct voice, and she nowhanded the paper to Florent, who was obliged to take it. 

"But the old man's business was certainly never worth fifteen thousandfrancs!" cried Quenu. "Why, I wouldn't have given ten thousand for it!"

He had ended by getting quite angry with his wife. Really, it was absurdto carry honesty to such a point as that! Had Florent said one wordabout the business? No, indeed, he had declared that he didn't wish foranything. 

"The business was worth fifteen thousand three hundred and ten francs, "Lisa re-asserted, calmly. "You will agree with me, my dear Florent, thatit is quite unnecessary to bring a lawyer into our affairs. It is for usto arrange the division between ourselves, since you have now turned upagain. I naturally thought of this as soon as you arrived; and, whileyou were in bed with the fever, I did my best to draw up this littleinventory. It contains, as you see, a fairly complete statement ofeverything. I have been through our old books, and have called up mymemory to help me. Read it aloud, and I will give you any additionalinformation you may want. "

Florent ended by smiling. He was touched by this easy and, as it were, natural display of probity. Placing the sheet of figures on the youngwoman's knee, he took hold of her hand and said, "I am very glad, mydear Lisa, to hear that you are prosperous, but I will not take yourmoney. The heritage belongs to you and my brother, who took care of myuncle up to the last. I don't require anything, and I don't intend tohamper you in carrying on your business. "

Lisa insisted, and even showed some vexation, while Quenu gnawed histhumbs in silence to restrain himself. 

"Ah!" resumed Florent with a laugh, "if Uncle Gradelle could hear you, I think he'd come back and take the money away again. I was never afavourite of his, you know. "

"Well, no, " muttered Quenu, no longer able to keep still, "he certainlywasn't over fond of you. "

Lisa, however, still pressed the matter. She did not like to have moneyin her secretaire that did not belong to her; it would worry her, saidshe; the thought of it would disturb her peace. Thereupon Florent, stillin a joking way, proposed to invest his share in the business. Moreover, said he, he did not intend to refuse their help; he would, no doubt, beunable to find employment all at once; and then, too, he would need acomplete outfit, for he was scarcely presentable. 

"Of course, " cried Quenu, "you will board and lodge with us, and we willbuy you all that you want. That's understood. You know very well that weare not likely to leave you in the streets, I hope!"

He was quite moved now, and even felt a trifle ashamed of the alarm hehad experienced at the thought of having to hand over a large amount ofmoney all at once. He began to joke, and told his brother that he wouldundertake to fatten him. Florent gently shook his hand; while Lisafolded up the sheet of figures and put it away in a drawer of thesecretaire. 

"You are wrong, " she said by way of conclusion. "I have done what I wasbound to do. Now it shall be as you wish. But, for my part, I shouldnever have had a moment's peace if I had not put things before you. Badthoughts would quite upset me. "

They then began to speak of another matter. It would be necessary togive some reason for Florent's presence, and at the same time avoidexciting the suspicion of the police. He told them that in order toreturn to France he had availed himself of the papers of a poor fellowwho had died in his arms at Surinam from yellow fever. By a singularcoincidence this young fellow's Christian name was Florent. 

Florent Laquerriere, to give him his name in full, had left but onerelation in Paris, a female cousin, and had been informed of her deathwhile in America. Nothing could therefore be easier than for Quenu'shalf brother to pass himself off as the man who had died at Surinam. Lisa offered to take upon herself the part of the female cousin. Theythen agreed to relate that their cousin Florent had returned fromabroad, where he had failed in his attempts to make a fortune, and thatthey, the Quenu-Gradelles, as they were called in the neighbourhood, hadreceived him into their house until he could find suitable employment. When this was all settled, Quenu insisted upon his brother makinga thorough inspection of the rooms, and would not spare him theexamination of a single stool. Whilst they were in the bare lookingchamber containing nothing but chairs, Lisa pushed open a door, andshowing Florent a small dressing room, told him that the shop girlshould sleep in it, so that he could retain the bedroom on the fifthfloor. 

In the evening Florent was arrayed in new clothes from head to foot. He had insisted upon again having a black coat and black trousers, muchagainst the advice of Quenu, upon whom black had a depressing effect. No further attempts were made to conceal his presence in the house, andLisa told the story which had been planned to everyone who cared tohear it. Henceforth Florent spent almost all his time on the premises, lingering on a chair in the kitchen or leaning against the marble-workin the shop. At meal times Quenu plied him with food, and evincedconsiderable vexation when he proved such a small eater and left halfthe contents of his liberally filled plate untouched. Lisa had resumedher old life, evincing a kindly tolerance of her brother-in-law'spresence, even in the morning, when he somewhat interfered with thework. Then she would momentarily forget him, and on suddenly perceivinghis black form in front of her give a slight start of surprise, followed, however, by one of her sweet smiles, lest he might feel atall hurt. This skinny man's disinterestedness had impressed her, and sheregarded him with a feeling akin to respect, mingled with vague fear. Florent had for his part only felt that there was great affection aroundhim. 

When bedtime came he went upstairs, a little wearied by his lazy day, with the two young men whom Quenu employed as assistants, and who sleptin attics adjoining his own. Leon, the apprentice, was barely fifteenyears of age. He was a slight, gentle looking lad, addicted to stealingstray slices of ham and bits of sausages. These he would conceal underhis pillow, eating them during the night without any bread. Severaltimes at about one o'clock in the morning Florent almost fancied thatLeon was giving a supper-party; for he heard low whispering followed bya sound of munching jaws and rustling paper. And then a rippling girlishlaugh would break faintly on the deep silence of the sleeping house likethe soft trilling of a flageolet. 

The other assistant, Auguste Landois, came from Troyes. Bloated withunhealthy fat, he had too large a head, and was already bald, althoughonly twenty-eight years of age. As he went upstairs with Florent on thefirst evening, he told him his story in a confused, garrulous way. Hehad at first come to Paris merely for the purpose of perfecting himselfin the business, intending to return to Troyes, where his cousin, Augustine Landois, was waiting for him, and there setting up for himselfas a pork butcher. He and she had had the game godfather and borevirtually the same Christian name. However, he had grown ambitious; andnow hoped to establish himself in business in Paris by the aid of themoney left him by his mother, which he had deposited with a notarybefore leaving Champagne. 

Auguste had got so far in his narrative when the fifth floor wasreached; however, he still detained Florent, in order to sound thepraises of Madame Quenu, who had consented to send for Augustine Landoisto replace an assistant who had turned out badly. He himself was nowthoroughly acquainted with his part of the business, and his cousin wasperfecting herself in shop management. In a year or eighteen months theywould be married, and then they would set up on their own account insome populous corner of Paris, at Plaisance most likely. They were in nogreat hurry, he added, for the bacon trade was very bad that year. Then he proceeded to tell Florent that he and his cousin had beenphotographed together at the fair of St. Ouen, and he entered the atticto have another look at the photograph, which Augustine had left onthe mantelpiece, in her desire that Madame Quenu's cousin should have apretty room. Auguste lingered there for a moment, looking quite lividin the dim yellow light of his candle, and casting his eyes around thelittle chamber which was still full of memorials of the young girl. Next, stepping up to the bed, he asked Florent if it was comfortable. His cousin slept below now, said he, and would be better there in thewinter, for the attics were very cold. Then at last he went off, leavingFlorent alone with the bed, and standing in front of the photograph. As shown on the latter Auguste looked like a sort of pale Quenu, andAugustine like an immature Lisa. 

Florent, although on friendly terms with the assistants, petted by hisbrother, and cordially treated by Lisa, presently began to feel verybored. He had tried, but without success, to obtain some pupils;moreover, he purposely avoided the students' quarter for fear of beingrecognised. Lisa gently suggested to him that he had better try toobtain a situation in some commercial house, where he could take chargeof the correspondence and keep the books. She returned to this subjectagain and again, and at last offered to find a berth for him herself. She was gradually becoming impatient at finding him so often in her way, idle, and not knowing what to do with himself. At first this impatiencewas merely due to the dislike she felt of people who do nothing butcross their arms and eat, and she had no thought of reproaching him forconsuming her substance. 

"For my own part, " she would say to him, "I could never spend the wholeday in dreamy lounging. You can't have any appetite for your meals. Youought to tire yourself. "

Gavard, also, was seeking a situation for Florent, but in a veryextraordinary and most mysterious fashion. He would have liked to findsome employment of a dramatic character, or in which there should be atouch of bitter irony, as was suitable for an outlaw. Gavard was a manwho was always in opposition. He had just completed his fiftieth year, and he boasted that he had already passed judgment on four Governments. He still contemptuously shrugged his shoulders at the thought of CharlesX, the priests and nobles and other attendant rabble, whom he had helpedto sweep away. Louis Philippe, with his bourgeois following, had been animbecile, and he could tell how the citizen-king had hoarded his coppersin a woollen stocking. As for the Republic of '48, that had been amere farce, the working classes had deceived him; however, he no longeracknowledged that he had applauded the Coup d'Etat, for he now lookedupon Napoleon III as his personal enemy, a scoundrel who shut himselfup with Morny and others to indulge in gluttonous orgies. He was neverweary of holding forth upon this subject. Lowering his voice a little, he would declare that women were brought to the Tuileries in closedcarriages every evening, and that he, who was speaking, had one nightheard the echoes of the orgies while crossing the Place du Carrousel. Itwas Gavard's religion to make himself as disagreeable as possible to anyexisting Government. He would seek to spite it in all sorts of ways, and laugh in secret for several months at the pranks he played. To beginwith, he voted for candidates who would worry the Ministers at the CorpsLegislatif. Then, if he could rob the revenue, or baffle the police, andbring about a row of some kind or other, he strove to give the affair asmuch of an insurrectionary character as possible. He told a great manylies, too; set himself up as being a very dangerous man; talked asthough "the satellites of the Tuileries" were well acquainted with himand trembled at the sight of him; and asserted that one half of themmust be guillotined, and the other half transported, the next time therewas "a flare-up. " His violent political creed found food in boastful, bragging talk of this sort; he displayed all the partiality for alark and a rumpus which prompts a Parisian shopkeeper to take downhis shutters on a day of barricade-fighting to get a good view of thecorpses of the slain. When Florent returned from Cayenne, Gavard opinedthat he had got hold of a splendid chance for some abominable trick, andbestowed much thought upon the question of how he might best vent hisspleen on the Emperor and Ministers and everyone in office, down to thevery lowest police constable. 

Gavard's manners with Florent were altogether those of a man tastingsome forbidden pleasure. He contemplated him with blinking eyes, loweredhis voice even when making the most trifling remark, and grasped hishand with all sorts of masonic flummery. He had at last lighted uponsomething in the way of an adventure; he had a friend who was reallycompromised, and could, without falsehood speak of the dangers heincurred. He undoubtedly experienced a secret alarm at the sight ofthis man who had returned from transportation, and whose fleshlessnesstestified to the long sufferings he had endured; however, this touch ofalarm was delightful, for it increased his notion of his own importance, and convinced him that he was really doing something wonderful intreating a dangerous character as a friend. Florent became a sort ofsacred being in his eyes: he swore by him alone, and had recourse to hisname whenever arguments failed him and he wanted to crush the Governmentonce and for all. 

Gavard had lost his wife in the Rue Saint Jacques some months after theCoup d'Etat; however, he had kept on his roasting shop till 1856. Atthat time it was reported that he had made large sums of money by goinginto partnership with a neighbouring grocer who had obtained a contractfor supplying dried vegetables to the Crimean expeditionary corps. Thetruth was, however, that, having sold his shop, he lived on his incomefor a year without doing anything. He himself did not care to talkabout the real origin of his fortune, for to have revealed it would haveprevented him from plainly expressing his opinion of the Crimean War, which he referred to as a mere adventurous expedition, "undertakensimply to consolidate the throne and to fill certain persons' pockets. "At the end of a year he had grown utterly weary of life in his bachelorquarters. As he was in the habit of visiting the Quenu-Gradelles almostdaily, he determined to take up his residence nearer to them, and cameto live in the Rue de la Cossonnerie. The neighbouring markets, withtheir noisy uproar and endless chatter, quite fascinated him; and hedecided to hire a stall in the poultry pavilion, just for the purposeof amusing himself and occupying his idle hours with all the gossip. Thenceforth he lived amidst ceaseless tittle-tattle, acquainted withevery little scandal in the neighbourhood, his head buzzing withthe incessant yelping around him. He blissfully tasted a thousandtitillating delights, having at last found his true element, and bathingin it, with the voluptuous pleasure of a carp swimming in the sunshine. Florent would sometimes go to see him at his stall. The afternoons werestill very warm. All along the narrow alleys sat women pluckingpoultry. Rays of light streamed in between the awnings, and in thewarm atmosphere, in the golden dust of the sunbeams, feathers flutteredhither and thither like dancing snowflakes. A trail of coaxing calls andoffers followed Florent as he passed along. "Can I sell you a fine duck, monsieur?" "I've some very fine fat chickens here, monsieur; come andsee!" "Monsieur! monsieur, do just buy this pair of pigeons!" Deafenedand embarrassed he freed himself from the women, who still went onplucking as they fought for possession of him; and the fine down flewabout and wellnigh choked him, like hot smoke reeking with the strongodour of the poultry. At last, in the middle of the alley, near thewater-taps, he found Gavard ranting away in his shirt-sleeves, in frontof his stall, with his arms crossed over the bib of his blue apron. Hereigned there, in a gracious, condescending way, over a group of ten ortwelve women. He was the only male dealer in that part of the market. He was so fond of wagging his tongue that he had quarrelled with five orsix girls whom he had successively engaged to attend to his stall, andhad now made up his mind to sell his goods himself, naively explainingthat the silly women spent the whole blessed day in gossiping, and thatit was beyond his power to manage them. As someone, however, was stillnecessary to supply his place whenever he absented himself he took inMarjolin, who was prowling about, after attempting in turn all the pettymarket callings. 

Florent sometimes remained for an hour with Gavard, amazed by hisceaseless flow of chatter, and his calm serenity and assurance amid thecrowd of petticoats. He would interrupt one woman, pick a quarrel withanother ten stalls away, snatch a customer from a third, and make asmuch noise himself as his hundred and odd garrulous neighbours, whoseincessant clamour kept the iron plates of the pavilion vibratingsonorously like so many gongs. 

The poultry dealer's only relations were a sister-in-law and a niece. When his wife died, her eldest sister, Madame Lecoeur, who had becomea widow about a year previously, had mourned for her in an exaggeratedfashion, and gone almost every evening to tender consolation to thebereaved husband. She had doubtless cherished the hope that she mightwin his affection and fill the yet warm place of the deceased. Gavard, however, abominated lean women; and would, indeed, only stroke suchcats and dogs as were very fat; so that Madame Lecoeur, who was long andwithered, failed in her designs. 

With her feelings greatly hurt, furious at the ex-roaster's five-francpieces eluding her grasp, she nurtured great spite against him. Hebecame the enemy to whom she devoted all her time. When she saw himset up in the markets only a few yards away from the pavilion where sheherself sold butter and eggs and cheese, she accused him of doing sosimply for the sake of annoying her and bringing her bad luck. From thatmoment she began to lament, and turned so yellow and melancholy that sheindeed ended by losing her customers and getting into difficulties. Shehad for a long time kept with her the daughter of one of her sisters, a peasant woman who had sent her the child and then taken no furthertrouble about it. 

This child grew up in the markets. Her surname was Sarriet, and so shesoon became generally known as La Sarriette. At sixteen years of age shehad developed into such a charming sly-looking puss that gentlemen cameto buy cheeses at her aunt's stall simply for the purpose of ogling her. She did not care for the gentlemen, however; with her dark hair, paleface, and eyes glistening like live embers, her sympathies were with thelower ranks of the people. At last she chose as her lover a young manfrom Menilmontant who was employed by her aunt as a porter. At twentyshe set up in business as a fruit dealer with the help of some fundsprocured no one knew how; and thenceforth Monsieur Jules, as her loverwas called, displayed spotless hands, a clean blouse, and a velvet cap;and only came down to the market in the afternoon, in his slippers. They lived together on the third storey of a large house in the RueVauvilliers, on the ground floor of which was a disreputable cafe. 

Madame Lecoeur's acerbity of temper was brought to a pitch by what shecalled La Sarriette's ingratitude, and she spoke of the girl in the mostviolent and abusive language. They broke off all intercourse, the auntfairly exasperated, and the niece and Monsieur Jules concocting storiesabout the aunt, which the young man would repeat to the other dealersin the butter pavilion. Gavard found La Sarriette very entertaining, and treated her with great indulgence. Whenever they met he wouldgood-naturedly pat her cheeks. 

One afternoon, whilst Florent was sitting in his brother's shop, tiredout with the fruitless pilgrimages he had made during the morning insearch of work, Marjolin made his appearance there. This big lad, who had the massiveness and gentleness of a Fleming, was a protege ofLisa's. She would say that there was no evil in him; that he wasindeed a little bit stupid, but as strong as a horse, and particularlyinteresting from the fact that nobody knew anything of his parentage. Itwas she who had got Gavard to employ him. 

Lisa was sitting behind the counter, feeling annoyed by the sight ofFlorent's muddy boots which were soiling the pink and white tiles of theflooring. Twice already had she risen to scatter sawdust about the shop. However, she smiled at Marjolin as he entered. 

"Monsieur Gavard, " began the young man, "has sent me to ask--"

But all at once he stopped and glanced round; then in a lower voice heresumed: "He told me to wait till there was no one with you, and then torepeat these words, which he made me learn by heart: 'Ask them if thereis no danger, and if I can come and talk to them of the matter they knowabout. '"

"Tell Monsieur Gavard that we are expecting him, " replied Lisa, who wasquite accustomed to the poultry dealer's mysterious ways. 

Marjolin, however, did not go away; but remained in ecstasy before thehandsome mistress of the shop, contemplating her with an expression offawning humility. 

Touched, as it were, by this mute adoration, Lisa spoke to him again. 

"Are you comfortable with Monsieur Gavard?" she asked. "He's not anunkind man, and you ought to try to please him. "

"Yes, Madame Lisa. "

"But you don't behave as you should, you know. Only yesterday I saw youclambering about the roofs of the market again; and, besides, you areconstantly with a lot of disreputable lads and lasses. You ought toremember that you are a man now, and begin to think of the future. "

"Yes, Madame Lisa. "

However, Lisa had to get up to wait upon a lady who came in and wanteda pound of pork chops. She left the counter and went to the block atthe far end of the shop. Here, with a long, slender knife, she cut threechops in a loin of pork; and then, raising a small cleaver with herstrong hand, dealt three sharp blows which separated the chops fromthe loin. At each blow she dealt, her black merino dress rose slightlybehind her, and the ribs of her stays showed beneath her tightlystretched bodice. She slowly took up the chops and weighed them with anair of gravity, her eyes gleaming and her lips tightly closed. 

When the lady had gone, and Lisa perceived Marjolin still full ofdelight at having seen her deal those three clean, forcible blows withthe cleaver, she at once called out to him, "What! haven't you goneyet?"

He thereupon turned to go, but she detained him for a moment longer. 

"Now, don't let me see you again with that hussy Cadine, " she said. "Oh, it's no use to deny it! I saw you together this morning in the tripemarket, watching men breaking the sheep's heads. I can't understandwhat attraction a good-looking young fellow like you can find in such aslipshod slattern as Cadine. Now then, go and tell Monsieur Gavard thathe had better come at once, while there's no one about. "

Marjolin thereupon went off in confusion, without saying a word. 

Handsome Lisa remained standing behind her counter, with her head turnedslightly in the direction of her markets, and Florent gazed at her insilence, surprised to see her looking so beautiful. He had never lookedat her properly before; indeed, he did not know the right way to look ata woman. He now saw her rising above the viands on the counter. In frontof her was an array of white china dishes, containing long Arles andLyons sausages, slices of which had already been cut off, with tonguesand pieces of boiled pork; then a pig's head in a mass of jelly; an openpot of preserved sausage-meat, and a large box of sardines disclosing apool of oil. On the right and left, upon wooden platters, were moundsof French and Italian brawn, a common French ham, of a pinky hue, and aYorkshire ham, whose deep red lean showed beneath a broad band of fat. There were other dishes too, round ones and oval ones, containing spicedtongue, truffled galantine, and a boar's head stuffed with pistachionuts; while close to her, in reach of her hand, stood some yellowearthen pans containing larded veal, _pate de foie gras_, and hare-pie. 

As there were no signs of Gavard's coming, she arranged some fore-endbacon upon a little marble shelf at the end of the counter, put the jarsof lard and dripping back into their places, wiped the plates of eachpair of scales, and saw to the fire of the heater, which was gettinglow. Then she turned her head again, and gazed in silence towardsthe markets. The smell of all the viands ascended around her, she wasenveloped, as it were, by the aroma of truffles. She looked beautifullyfresh that afternoon. The whiteness of all the dishes was supplementedby that of her sleevelets and apron, above which appeared her plumpneck and rosy cheeks, which recalled the soft tones of the hams and thepallor of all the transparent fat. 

As Florent continued to gaze at her he began to feel intimidated, disquieted by her prim, sedate demeanour; and in lieu of openly lookingat her he ended by glancing surreptitiously in the mirrors around theshop, in which her back and face and profile could be seen. The mirroron the ceiling, too, reflected the top of her head, with its tightlyrolled chignon and the little bands lowered over her temples. Thereseemed, indeed, to be a perfect crowd of Lisas, with broad shoulders, powerful arms, and round, full bosoms. At last Florent checked hisroving eyes, and let them rest on a particularly pleasing side view ofthe young woman as mirrored between two pieces of pork. From the hooksrunning along the whole line of mirrors and marbles hung sides of porkand bands of larding fat; and Lisa, with her massive neck, rounded hips, and swelling bosom seen in profile, looked like some waxwork queen inthe midst of the dangling fat and meat. However, she bent forward andsmiled in a friendly way at the two gold-fish which were ever and everswimming round the aquarium in the window. 

Gavard entered the shop. With an air of great importance he went tofetch Quenu from the kitchen. Then he seated himself upon a smallmarble-topped table, while Florent remained on his chair and Lisa behindthe counter; Quenu meantime leaning his back against a side of pork. And thereupon Gavard announced that he had at last found a situation forFlorent. They would be vastly amused when they heard what it was, andthe Government would be nicely caught. 

But all at once he stopped short, for a passing neighbour, MademoiselleSaget, having seen such a large party gossiping together at theQuenu-Gradelles', had opened the door and entered the shop. Carryingher everlasting black ribbonless straw hat, which appropriately cast ashadow over her prying white face, she saluted the men with a slight bowand Lisa with a sharp smile. 

She was an acquaintance of the family, and still lived in the housein the Rue Pirouette where she had resided for the last forty years, probably on a small private income; but of that she never spoke. Shehad, however, one day talked of Cherbourg, mentioning that she had beenborn there. Nothing further was ever known of her antecedents. All herconversation was about other people; she could tell the whole story oftheir daily lives, even to the number of things they sent to bewashed each month; and she carried her prying curiosity concerning herneighbours' affairs so far as to listen behind their doors and opentheir letters. Her tongue was feared from the Rue Saint Denis to theRue Jean-Jacques Rousseau, and from the Rue Saint Honore to the RueMauconseil. All day long she went ferreting about with her empty bag, pretending that she was marketing, but in reality buying nothing, as hersole purpose was to retail scandal and gossip, and keep herself fullyinformed of every trifling incident that happened. Indeed, she hadturned her brain into an encyclopaedia brimful of every possibleparticular concerning the people of the neighbourhood and their homes. 

Quenu had always accused her of having spread the story of his UncleGradelle's death on the chopping-block, and had borne her a grudge eversince. She was extremely well posted in the history of Uncle Gradelleand the Quenus, and knew them, she would say, by heart. For the lastfortnight, however, Florent's arrival had greatly perplexed her, filledher, indeed, with a perfect fever of curiosity. She became quite illwhen she discovered any unforeseen gap in her information. And yet shecould have sworn that she had seen that tall lanky fellow somewhere orother before. 

She remained standing in front of the counter, examining the dishes oneafter another, and saying in a shrill voice:

"I hardly know what to have. When the afternoon comes I feel quitefamished for my dinner, and then, later on, I don't seem able to fancyanything at all. Have you got a cutlet rolled in bread-crumbs left, Madame Quenu?"

Without waiting for a reply, she removed one of the covers of theheater. It was that of the compartment reserved for the chitterlings, sausages, and black-puddings. However, the chafing-dish was quite cold, and there was nothing left but one stray forgotten sausage. 

"Look under the other cover, Mademoiselle Saget, " said Lisa. "I believethere's a cutlet there. "

"No, it doesn't tempt me, " muttered the little old woman, poking hernose under the other cover, however, all the same. "I felt rather afancy for one, but I'm afraid a cutlet would be rather too heavy in theevening. I'd rather have something, too, that I need not warm. "

While speaking she had turned towards Florent and looked at him; thenshe looked at Gavard, who was beating a tattoo with his finger-tipson the marble table. She smiled at them, as though inviting them tocontinue their conversation. 

"Wouldn't a little piece of salt pork suit you?" asked Lisa. 

"A piece of salt pork? Yes, that might do. "

Thereupon she took up the fork with plated handle, which was lying atthe edge of the dish, and began to turn all the pieces of pork about, prodding them, lightly tapping the bones to judge of their thickness, and minutely scrutinising the shreds of pinky meat. And as she turnedthem over she repeated, "No, no; it doesn't tempt me. "

"Well, then, have a sheep's tongue, or a bit of brawn, or a slice oflarded veal, " suggested Lisa patiently. 

Mademoiselle Saget, however, shook her head. She remained there fora few minutes longer, pulling dissatisfied faces over the differentdishes; then, seeing that the others were determined to remain silent, and that she would not be able to learn anything, she took herself off. 

"No; I rather felt a fancy for a cutlet rolled in bread-crumbs, " shesaid as she left the shop, "but the one you have left is too fat. I mustcome another time. "

Lisa bent forward to watch her through the sausage-skins hanging in theshop-front, and saw her cross the road and enter the fruit market. 

"The old she-goat!" growled Gavard. 

Then, as they were now alone again, he began to tell them of thesituation he had found for Florent. A friend of his, he said, MonsieurVerlaque, one of the fish market inspectors, was so ill that he wasobliged to take a rest; and that very morning the poor man had toldhim that he should be very glad to find a substitute who would keep hisberth open for him in case he should recover. 

"Verlaque, you know, won't last another six months, " added Gavard, "andFlorent will keep the place. It's a splendid idea, isn't it? And it willbe such a take-in for the police! The berth is under the Prefecture, youknow. What glorious fun to see Florent getting paid by the police, eh?"

He burst into a hearty laugh; the idea struck him as so extremelycomical. 

"I won't take the place, " Florent bluntly replied. "I've sworn I'llnever accept anything from the Empire, and I would rather die ofstarvation than serve under the Prefecture. It is quite out of thequestion, Gavard, quite so!"

Gavard seemed somewhat put out on hearing this. Quenu had lowered hishead, while Lisa, turning round, looked keenly at Florent, her neckswollen, her bosom straining her bodice almost to bursting point. Shewas just going to open her mouth when La Sarriette entered the shop, andthere was another pause in the conversation. 

"Dear me!" exclaimed La Sarriette with her soft laugh, "I'd almostforgotten to get any bacon fat. Please, Madame Quenu, cut me a dozenthin strips--very thin ones, you know; I want them for larding larks. Jules has taken it into his head to eat some larks. Ah! how do you do, uncle?"

She filled the whole shop with her dancing skirts and smiled brightly ateveryone. Her face looked fresh and creamy, and on one side her hair wascoming down, loosened by the wind which blew through the markets. Gavardgrasped her hands, while she with merry impudence resumed: "I'll betthat you were talking about me just as I came in. Tell me what you weresaying, uncle. "

However, Lisa now called to her, "Just look and tell me if this is thinenough. "

She was cutting the strips of bacon fat with great care on a piece ofboard in front of her. Then as she wrapped them up she inquired, "Can Igive you anything else?"

"Well, yes, " replied La Sarriette; "since I'm about it, I think I'llhave a pound of lard. I'm awfully fond of fried potatoes; I can make abreakfast off a penn'orth of potatoes and a bunch of radishes. Yes, I'llhave a pound of lard, please, Madame Quenu. "

Lisa placed a sheet of stout paper in the pan of the scales. Then shetook the lard out of a jar under the shelves with a boxwood spatula, gently adding small quantities to the fatty heap, which began to meltand run slightly. When the plate of the scale fell, she took up thepaper, folded it, and rapidly twisted the ends with her finger-tips. 

"That makes twenty-four sous, " she said; "the bacon is six sous--thirtysous altogether. There's nothing else you want, is there?"

"No, " said La Sarriette, "nothing. " She paid her money, still laughingand showing her teeth, and staring the men in the face. Her grey skirtwas all awry, and her loosely fastened red neckerchief allowed a littleof her white bosom to appear. Before she went away she stepped up toGavard again, and pretending to threaten him exclaimed: "So you won'ttell me what you were talking about as I came in? I could see youlaughing from the street. Oh, you sly fellow! Ah! I sha'n't love you anylonger!"

Then she left the shop and ran across the road. 

"It was Mademoiselle Saget who sent her here, " remarked handsome Lisadrily. 

Then silence fell again for some moments. Gavard was dismayed atFlorent's reception of his proposal. Lisa was the first to speak. "Itwas wrong of you to refuse the post, Florent, " she said in the mostfriendly tones. "You know how difficult it is to find any employment, and you are not in a position to be over-exacting. "

"I have my reasons, " Florent replied. 

Lisa shrugged her shoulders. "Come now, " said she, "you really can't beserious, I'm sure. I can understand that you are not in love with theGovernment, but it would be too absurd to let your opinions preventyou from earning your living. And, besides, my dear fellow, the Emperorisn't at all a bad sort of man. You don't suppose, do you, that he knewyou were eating mouldy bread and tainted meat? He can't be everywhere, you know, and you can see for yourself that he hasn't prevented us herefrom doing pretty well. You are not at all just; indeed you are not. "

Gavard, however, was getting very fidgety. He could not bear to hearpeople speak well of the Emperor. 

"No, no, Madame Quenu, " he interrupted; "you are going too far. It is ascoundrelly system altogether. "

"Oh, as for you, " exclaimed Lisa vivaciously, "you'll never rest untilyou've got yourself plundered and knocked on the head as the result ofall your wild talk. Don't let us discuss politics; you would only makeme angry. The question is Florent, isn't it? Well, for my part, I saythat he ought to accept this inspectorship. Don't you think so too, Quenu?"

Quenu, who had not yet said a word, was very much put out by his wife'ssudden appeal. 

"It's a good berth, " he replied, without compromising himself. 

Then, amidst another interval of awkward silence, Florent resumed: "Ibeg you, let us drop the subject. My mind is quite made up. I shallwait. "

"You will wait!" cried Lisa, losing patience. 

Two rosy fires had risen to her cheeks. As she stood there, erect, inher white apron, with rounded, swelling hips, it was with difficultythat she restrained herself from breaking out into bitter words. However, the entrance of another person into the shop arrested heranger. The new arrival was Madame Lecoeur. 

"Can you let me have half a pound of mixed meats at fifty sous thepound?" she asked. 

She at first pretended not to notice her brother-in-law; but presentlyshe just nodded her head to him, without speaking. Then she scrutinisedthe three men from head to foot, doubtless hoping to divine their secretby the manner in which they waited for her to go. She could see that shewas putting them out, and the knowledge of this rendered her yet moresour and angular, as she stood there in her limp skirts, with her long, spider-like arms bent and her knotted fingers clasped beneath her apron. Then, as she coughed slightly, Gavard, whom the silence embarrassed, inquired if she had a cold. 

She curtly answered in the negative. Her tightly stretched skin was ofa red-brick colour on those parts of her face where her bones protruded, and the dull fire burning in her eyes and scorching their lids testifiedto some liver complaint nurtured by the querulous jealousy of herdisposition. She turned round again towards the counter, and watchedeach movement made by Lisa as she served her with the distrustful glanceof one who is convinced that an attempt will be made to defraud her. 

"Don't give me any saveloy, " she exclaimed; "I don't like it. "

Lisa had taken up a slender knife, and was cutting some thin slicesof sausage. She next passed on to the smoked ham and the common ham, cutting delicate slices from each, and bending forward slightly as shedid so, with her eyes ever fixed on the knife. Her plump rosy hands, flitting about the viands with light and gentle touches, seemed to havederived suppleness from contact with all the fat. 

"You would like some larded veal, wouldn't you?" she asked, bringing ayellow pan towards her. 

Madame Lecoeur seemed to be thinking the matter over at considerablelength; however, she at last said that she would have some. Lisa hadnow begun to cut into the contents of the pans, from which she removedslices of larded veal and hare _pate_ on the tip of a broad-bladedknife. And she deposited each successive slice on the middle of a sheetof paper placed on the scales. 

"Aren't you going to give me some of the boar's head with pistachionuts?" asked Madame Lecoeur in her querulous voice. 

Lisa was obliged to add some of the boar's head. But the butter dealerwas getting exacting, and asked for two slices of galantine. She wasvery fond of it. Lisa, who was already irritated, played impatientlywith the handles of the knives, and told her that the galantine wastruffled, and that she could only include it in an "assortment" at threefrancs the pound. Madame Lecoeur, however, continued to pry into thedishes, trying to find something else to ask for. When the "assortment"was weighed she made Lisa add some jelly and gherkins to it. The blockof jelly, shaped like a Savoy cake, shook on its white china dishbeneath the angry violence of Lisa's hand; and as with her finger-tipsshe took a couple of gherkins from a jar behind the heater, she made thevinegar spurt over the sides. 

"Twenty-five sous, isn't it?" Madame Lecoeur leisurely inquired. 

She fully perceived Lisa's covert irritation, and greatly enjoyed thesight of it, producing her money as slowly as possible, as though, indeed, her silver had got lost amongst the coppers in her pocket. Andshe glanced askance at Gavard, relishing the embarrassed silence whichher presence was prolonging, and vowing that she would not go off, sincethey were hiding some trickery or other from her. However, Lisa atlast put the parcel in her hands, and she was then obliged to make herdeparture. She went away without saying a word, but darting a searchingglance all round the shop. 

"It was that Saget who sent her too!" burst out Lisa, as soon as the oldwoman was gone. "Is the old wretch going to send the whole market hereto try to find out what we talk about? What a prying, malicious set theyare! Did anyone ever hear before of crumbed cutlets and 'assortments'being bought at five o'clock in the afternoon? But then they'd rackthemselves with indigestion rather than not find out! Upon my word, though, if La Saget sends anyone else here, you'll see the receptionshe'll get. I would bundle her out of the shop, even if she were my ownsister!"

The three men remained silent in presence of this explosion of anger. Gavard had gone to lean over the brass rail of the window-front, where, seemingly lost in thought, he began playing with one of the cut-glassbalusters detached from its wire fastening. Presently, however, heraised his head. "Well, for my part, " he said, "I looked upon it all asan excellent joke. "

"Looked upon what as a joke?" asked Lisa, still quivering withindignation. 

"The inspectorship. "

She raised her hands, gave a last glance at Florent, and then sat downupon the cushioned bench behind the counter and said nothing further. Gavard, however, began to explain his views at length; the drift of hisargument being that it was the Government which would look foolish inthe matter, since Florent would be taking its money. 

"My dear fellow, " he said complacently, "those scoundrels all butstarved you to death, didn't they? Well, you must make them feed younow. It's a splendid idea; it caught my fancy at once!"

Florent smiled, but still persisted in his refusal. Quenu, in the hopeof pleasing his wife, did his best to find some good arguments. Lisa, however, appeared to pay no further attention to them. For the lastmoment or two she had been looking attentively in the direction of themarkets. And all at once she sprang to her feet again, exclaiming, "Ah!it is La Normande that they are sending to play the spy on us now! Well, so much the worse for La Normande; she shall pay for the others!"

A tall female pushed the shop door open. It was the handsome fish-girl, Louise Mehudin, generally known as La Normande. She was a bold-lookingbeauty, with a delicate white skin, and was almost as plump as Lisa, but there was more effrontery in her glance, and her bosom heaved withwarmer life. She came into the shop with a light swinging step, her goldchain jingling on her apron, her bare hair arranged in the latest style, and a bow at her throat, a lace bow, which made her one of the mostcoquettish-looking queens of the markets. She brought a vague odourof fish with her, and a herring-scale showed like a tiny patch ofmother-of-pearl near the little finger of one of her hands. She andLisa having lived in the same house in the Rue Pirouette, were intimatefriends, linked by a touch of rivalry which kept each of them busywith thoughts of the other. In the neighbourhood people spoke of "thebeautiful Norman, " just as they spoke of "beautiful Lisa. " This broughtthem into opposition and comparison, and compelled each of them to doher utmost to sustain her reputation for beauty. Lisa from her countercould, by stooping a little, perceive the fish-girl amidst her salmonand turbot in the pavilion opposite; and each kept a watch on theother. Beautiful Lisa laced herself more tightly in her stays; and thebeautiful Norman replied by placing additional rings on her fingers andadditional bows on her shoulders. When they met they were very bland andunctuous and profuse in compliments; but all the while their eyeswere furtively glancing from under their lowered lids, in the hope ofdiscovering some flaw. They made a point of always dealing with eachother, and professed great mutual affection. 

"I say, " said La Normande, with her smiling air, "it's to-morrow eveningthat you make your black-puddings, isn't it?"

Lisa maintained a cold demeanour. She seldom showed any anger; but whenshe did it was tenacious, and slow to be appeased. "Yes, " she replieddrily, with the tips of her lips. 

"I'm so fond of black-puddings, you know, when they come straight outof the pot, " resumed La Normande. "I'll come and get some of youto-morrow. "

She was conscious of her rival's unfriendly greeting. However, sheglanced at Florent, who seemed to interest her; and then, unwilling togo off without having the last word, she was imprudent enough to add: "Ibought some black-pudding of you the day before yesterday, you know, andit wasn't quite sweet. "

"Not quite sweet!" repeated Lisa, very pale, and her lips quivering. 

She might, perhaps, have once more restrained herself, for fear of LaNormande imagining that she was overcome by envious spite at thesight of the lace bow; but the girl, not content with playing the spy, proceeded to insult her, and that was beyond endurance. So, leaningforward, with her hands clenched on the counter, she exclaimed, in asomewhat hoarse voice: "I say! when you sold me that pair of soleslast week, did I come and tell you, before everybody that they werestinking?"

"Stinking! My soles stinking!" cried the fish dealer, flushing scarlet. 

For a moment they remained silent, choking with anger, but glaringfiercely at each other over the array of dishes. All their honeyedfriendship had vanished; a word had sufficed to reveal what sharp teeththere were behind their smiling lips. 

"You're a vulgar, low creature!" cried the beautiful Norman. "You'llnever catch me setting foot in here again, I can tell you!"

"Get along with you, get along with you, " exclaimed beautiful Lisa. "Iknow quite well whom I've got to deal with!"

The fish-girl went off, hurling behind her a coarse expression whichleft Lisa quivering. The whole scene had passed so quickly that thethree men, overcome with amazement, had not had time to interfere. Lisa soon recovered herself, and was resuming the conversation, withoutmaking any allusion to what had just occurred, when the shop girl, Augustine, returned from an errand on which she had been sent. Lisathereupon took Gavard aside, and after telling him to say nothing forthe present to Monsieur Verlaque, promised that she would undertake toconvince her brother-in-law in a couple of days' time at the utmost. Quenu then returned to his kitchen, while Gavard took Florent off withhim. And as they were just going into Monsieur Lebigre's to drink a dropof vermouth together he called his attention to three women standing inthe covered way between the fish and poultry pavilions. 

"They're cackling together!" he said with an envious air. 

The markets were growing empty, and Mademoiselle Saget, Madame Lecoeur, and La Sarriette alone lingered on the edge of the footway. The old maidwas holding forth. 

"As I told you before, Madame Lecoeur, " said she, "they've always gotyour brother-in-law in their shop. You saw him there yourself just now, didn't you?"

"Oh yes, indeed! He was sitting on a table, and seemed quite at home. "

"Well, for my part, " interrupted La Sarriette, "I heard nothing wrong;and I can't understand why you're making such a fuss. "

Mademoiselle Saget shrugged her shoulders. "Ah, you're very innocentyet, my dear, " she said. "Can't you see why the Quenus are alwaysattracting Monsieur Gavard to their place? Well, I'll wager that he'llleave all he has to their little Pauline. "

"You believe that, do you?" cried Madame Lecoeur, white with rage. Then, in a mournful voice, as though she had just received some heavy blow, she continued: "I am alone in the world, and have no one to take mypart; he is quite at liberty to do as he pleases. His niece sides withhim too--you heard her just now. She has quite forgotten all that shecost me, and wouldn't stir a hand to help me. "

"Indeed, aunt, " exclaimed La Sarriette, "you are quite wrong there! It'syou who've never had anything but unkind words for me. "

They became reconciled on the spot, and kissed one another. The niecepromised that she would play no more pranks, and the aunt swore byall she held most sacred that she looked upon La Sarriette as her owndaughter. Then Mademoiselle Saget advised them as to the steps theyought to take to prevent Gavard from squandering his money. And theyall agreed that the Quenu-Gradelles were very disreputable folks, andrequired closely watching. 

"I don't know what they're up to just now, " said the old maid, "butthere's something suspicious going on, I'm sure. What's your opinion, now, of that fellow Florent, that cousin of Madame Quenu's?"

The three women drew more closely together, and lowered their voices. 

"You remember, " said Madame Lecoeur, "that we saw him one morning withhis boots all split, and his clothes covered with dust, looking justlike a thief who's been up to some roguery. That fellow quite frightensme. "

"Well, he's certainly very thin, " said La Sarriette, "but he isn'tugly. "

Mademoiselle Saget was reflecting, and she expressed her thoughtsaloud. "I've been trying to find out something about him for the lastfortnight, but I can make nothing of it. Monsieur Gavard certainly knowshim. I must have met him myself somewhere before, but I can't rememberwhere. "

She was still ransacking her memory when La Normande swept up to themlike a whirlwind. She had just left the pork shop. 

"That big booby Lisa has got nice manners, I must say!" she cried, delighted to be able to relieve herself. "Fancy her telling me that Isold nothing but stinking fish! But I gave her as good as she deserved, I can tell you! A nice den they keep, with their tainted pig meat whichpoisons all their customers!"

"But what had you been saying to her?" asked the old maid, quitefrisky with excitement, and delighted to hear that the two women hadquarrelled. 

"I! I'd said just nothing at all--no, not that! I just went into theshop and told her very civilly that I'd buy some black-pudding to-morrowevening, and then she overwhelmed me with abuse. A dirty hypocrite sheis, with her saint-like airs! But she'll pay more dearly for this thanshe fancies!"

The three women felt that La Normande was not telling them the truth, but this did not prevent them from taking her part with a rush of badlanguage. They turned towards the Rue Rambuteau with insulting mien, inventing all sorts of stories about the uncleanliness of the cookery atthe Quenu's shop, and making the most extraordinary accusations. If theQuenus had been detected selling human flesh the women could not havedisplayed more violent and threatening anger. The fish-girl was obligedto tell her story three times over. 

"And what did the cousin say?" asked Mademoiselle Saget, with wickedintent. 

"The cousin!" repeated La Normande, in a shrill voice. "Do you reallybelieve that he's a cousin? He's some lover or other, I'll wager, thegreat booby!"

The three others protested against this. Lisa's honourability was anarticle of faith in the neighbourhood. 

"Stuff and nonsense!" retorted La Normande. "You can never be sure aboutthose smug, sleek hypocrites. "

Mademoiselle Saget nodded her head as if to say that she was notvery far from sharing La Normande's opinion. And she softly added:"Especially as this cousin has sprung from no one knows where; for it'sa very doubtful sort of account that the Quenus give of him. "

"Oh, he's the fat woman's sweetheart, I tell you!" reaffirmed thefish-girl; "some scamp or vagabond picked up in the streets. It's easyenough to see it. "

"She has given him a complete outfit, " remarked Madame Lecoeur. "He mustbe costing her a pretty penny. "

"Yes, yes, " muttered the old maid; "perhaps you are right. I must reallyget to know something about him. "

Then they all promised to keep one another thoroughly informed ofwhatever might take place in the Quenu-Gradelle establishment. Thebutter dealer pretended that she wished to open her brother-in-law'seyes as to the sort of places he frequented. However, La Normande'sanger had by this time toned down, and, a good sort of girl at heart, she went off, weary of having talked so much on the matter. 

"I'm sure that La Normande said something or other insolent, " remarkedMadame Lecoeur knowingly, when the fish-girl had left them. "It is justher way; and it scarcely becomes a creature like her to talk as she didof Lisa. "

The three women looked at each other and smiled. Then, when MadameLecoeur also had gone off, La Sarriette remarked to Mademoiselle Saget:"It is foolish of my aunt to worry herself so much about all theseaffairs. It's that which makes her so thin. Ah! she'd have willinglytaken Gavard for a husband if she could only have got him. Yet she usedto beat me if ever a young man looked my way. "

Mademoiselle Saget smiled once more. And when she found herself alone, and went back towards the Rue Pirouette, she reflected that those threecackling hussies were not worth a rope to hang them. She was, indeed, a little afraid that she might have been seen with them, and the ideasomewhat troubled her, for she realised that it would be bad policy tofall out with the Quenu-Gradelles, who, after all, were well-to-do folksand much esteemed. So she went a little out of her way on purpose tocall at Taboureau the baker's in the Rue Turbigo--the finest baker'sshop in the whole neighbourhood. Madame Taboureau was not only anintimate friend of Lisa's, but an accepted authority on every subject. When it was remarked that "Madame Taboureau had said this, " or "MadameTaboureau had said that, " there was no more to be urged. So the oldmaid, calling at the baker's under pretence of inquiring at what timethe oven would be hot, as she wished to bring a dish of pears to bebaked, took the opportunity to eulogise Lisa, and lavish praise upon thesweetness and excellence of her black-puddings. Then, well pleased athaving prepared this moral alibi and delighted at having done what shecould to fan the flames of a quarrel without involving herself in it, she briskly returned home, feeling much easier in her mind, butstill striving to recall where she had previously seen Madame Quenu'sso-called cousin. 

That same evening, after dinner, Florent went out and strolled for sometime in one of the covered ways of the markets. A fine mist was rising, and a grey sadness, which the gas lights studded as with yellow tears, hung over the deserted pavilions. For the first time Florent began tofeel that he was in the way, and to recognise the unmannerly fashion inwhich he, thin and artless, had tumbled into this world of fat people;and he frankly admitted to himself that his presence was disturbingthe whole neighbourhood, and that he was a source of discomfort to theQuenus--a spurious cousin of far too compromising appearance. Thesereflections made him very sad; not, indeed, that they had noticed theslightest harshness on the part of his brother or Lisa: it was theirvery kindness, rather, that was troubling him, and he accused himself ofa lack of delicacy in quartering himself upon them. He was beginning todoubt the propriety of his conduct. The recollection of the conversationin the shop during the afternoon caused him a vague disquietude. Theodour of the viands on Lisa's counter seemed to penetrate him; he felthimself gliding into nerveless, satiated cowardice. Perhaps he had actedwrongly in refusing the inspectorship offered him. This reflection gavebirth to a stormy struggle in his mind, and he was obliged to brace andshake himself before he could recover his wonted rigidity of principles. However, a moist breeze had risen, and was blowing along the coveredway, and he regained some degree of calmness and resolution on beingobliged to button up his coat. The wind seemingly swept from his clothesall the greasy odour of the pork shop, which had made him feel solanguid. 

He was returning home when he met Claude Lantier. The artist, hiddenin the folds of his greenish overcoat, spoke in a hollow voice full ofsuppressed anger. He was in a passion with painting, declared that itwas a dog's trade, and swore that he would not take up a brush again aslong as he lived. That very afternoon he had thrust his foot through astudy which he had been making of the head of that hussy Cadine. 

Claude was subject to these outbursts, the fruit of his inability toexecute the lasting, living works which he dreamed of. And at such timeslife became an utter blank to him, and he wandered about the streets, wrapped in the gloomiest thoughts, and waiting for the morning as for asort of resurrection. He used to say that he felt bright and cheerful inthe morning, and horribly miserable in the evening. [*] Each of his dayswas a long effort ending in disappointment. Florent scarcely recognisedin him the careless night wanderer of the markets. They had already metagain at the pork shop, and Claude, who knew the fugitive's story, hadgrasped his hand and told him that he was a sterling fellow. It was veryseldom, however, that the artist went to the Quenus'. 

 [*] Claude Lantier's struggle for fame is fully described in M. Zola's novel, _L'Oeuvre_ ("His Masterpiece"). --Translator. 

"Are you still at my aunt's?" he asked. "I can't imagine how you manageto exist amidst all that cookery. The places reeks with the smell ofmeat. When I've been there for an hour I feel as though I shouldn't wantanything to eat for another three days. I ought not to have gone therethis morning; it was that which made me make a mess of my work. "

Then, after he and Florent had taken a few steps in silence, he resumed:

"Ah! the good people! They quite grieve me with their fine health. I hadthought of painting their portraits, but I've never been able to succeedwith such round faces, in which there is never a bone. Ah! You wouldn'tfind my aunt Lisa kicking her foot through her pans! I was an idiot tohave destroyed Cadine's head! Now that I come to think of it, it wasn'tso very bad, perhaps, after all. "

Then they began to talk about Aunt Lisa. Claude said that his mother[*]had not seen anything of her for a long time, and he hinted that thepork butcher's wife was somewhat ashamed of her sister having marrieda common working man; moreover, she wasn't at all fond of unfortunatefolks. Speaking of himself, he told Florent that a benevolent gentlemanhad sent him to college, being very pleased with the donkeys and oldwomen that he had managed to draw when only eight years old; but thegood soul had died, leaving him an income of a thousand francs, whichjust saved him from perishing of hunger. 

[*] Gervaise, the heroine of the _Assommoir_. 

"All the same, I would rather have been a working man, " continuedClaude. "Look at the carpenters, for instance. They are very happyfolks, the carpenters. They have a table to make, say; well, they makeit, and then go off to bed, happy at having finished the table, andperfectly satisfied with themselves. Now I, on the other hand, scarcelyget any sleep at nights. All those confounded pictures which I can'tfinish go flying about my brain. I never get anything finished and donewith--never, never!"

His voice almost broke into a sob. Then he attempted to laugh; andafterwards began to swear and pour forth coarse expressions, with thecold rage of one who, endowed with a delicate, sensitive mind, doubtshis own powers, and dreams of wallowing in the mire. He ended bysquatting down before one of the gratings which admit air into thecellars beneath the markets--cellars where the gas is continually keptburning. And in the depths below he pointed out Marjolin and Cadinetranquilly eating their supper, whilst seated on one of the stone blocksused for killing the poultry. The two young vagabonds had discovered ameans of hiding themselves and making themselves at home in the cellarsafter the doors had been closed. 

"What a magnificent animal he is, eh!" exclaimed Claude, with enviousadmiration, speaking of Marjolin. "He and Cadine are happy, at allevents! All they care for is eating and kissing. They haven't a carein the world. Ah, you do quite right, after all, to remain at the porkshop; perhaps you'll grow sleek and plump there. "

Then he suddenly went off. Florent climbed up to his garret, disturbedby Claude's nervous restlessness, which revived his own uncertainty. On the morrow, he avoided the pork shop all the morning, and went fora long walk on the quays. When he returned to lunch, however, he wasstruck by Lisa's kindliness. Without any undue insistence she againspoke to him about the inspectorship, as of something which was wellworth his consideration. As he listened to her, with a full plate infront of him, he was affected, in spite of himself, by the prim comfortof his surroundings. The matting beneath his feet seemed very soft;the gleams of the brass hanging lamp, the soft, yellow tint ofthe wallpaper, and the bright oak of the furniture filled him withappreciation of a life spent in comfort, which disturbed his notions ofright and wrong. He still, however, had sufficient strength to persistin his refusal, and repeated his reasons; albeit conscious of the badtaste he was showing in thus ostentatiously parading his animosity andobstinacy in such a place. Lisa showed no signs of vexation; on thecontrary, she smiled, and the sweetness of her smile embarrassed Florentfar more than her suppressed irritation of the previous evening. Atdinner the subject was not renewed; they talked solely of the greatwinter saltings, which would keep the whole staff of the establishmentbusily employed. 

The evenings were growing cold, and as soon as they had dined theyretired into the kitchen, where it was very warm. The room was so large, too, that several people could sit comfortably at the square centraltable, without in any way impeding the work that was going on. Lightedby gas, the walls were coated with white and blue tiles to a heightof some five or six feet from the floor. On the left was a great ironstove, in the three apertures of which were set three large round pots, their bottoms black with soot. At the end was a small range, which, fitted with an oven and a smoking-place, served for the broiling; andup above, over the skimming-spoons, ladles, and long-handled forks, wereseveral numbered drawers, containing rasped bread, both fine and coarse, toasted crumbs, spices, cloves, nutmegs, and pepper. On the right, leaning heavily against the wall, was the chopping-block, a huge massof oak, slashed and scored all over. Attached to it were severalappliances, an injecting pump, a forcing-machine, and a mechanicalmincer, which, with their wheels and cranks, imparted to the place anuncanny and mysterious aspect, suggesting some kitchen of the infernalregions. 

Then, all round the walls upon shelves, and even under the tables, were iron pots, earthenware pans, dishes, pails, various kinds of tinutensils, a perfect battery of deep copper saucepans, and swellingfunnels, racks of knives and choppers, rows of larding-pins andneedles--a perfect world of greasy things. In spite of the extremecleanliness, grease was paramount; it oozed forth from between the blueand white tiles on the wall, glistened on the red tiles of the flooring, gave a greyish glitter to the stove, and polished the edges of thechopping-block with the transparent sheen of varnished oak. And, indeed, amidst the ever-rising steam, the continuous evaporation from the threebig pots, in which pork was boiling and melting, there was not a singlenail from ceiling to floor from which grease did not exude. 

The Quenu-Gradelles prepared nearly all their stock themselves. All thatthey procured from outside were the potted meats of celebrated firms, with jars of pickles and preserves, sardines, cheese, and edible snails. They consequently became very busy after September in filling thecellars which had been emptied during the summer. They continued workingeven after the shop had been closed for the night. Assisted by Augusteand Leon, Quenu would stuff sausages-skins, prepare hams, melt downlard, and salt the different sorts of bacon. There was a tremendousnoise of cauldrons and cleavers, and the odour of cooking spread throughthe whole house. All this was quite independent of the daily businessin fresh pork, _pate de fois gras_, hare patty, galantine, saveloys andblack-puddings. 

That evening, at about eleven o'clock, Quenu, after placing a couple ofpots on the fire in order to melt down some lard, began to prepare theblack-puddings. Auguste assisted him. At one corner of the square tableLisa and Augustine sat mending linen, whilst opposite to them, on theother side, with his face turned towards the fireplace, was Florent. Leon was mincing some sausage-meat on the oak block in a slow, rhythmical fashion. 

Auguste first of all went out into the yard to fetch a couple ofjug-like cans full of pigs' blood. It was he who stuck the animals inthe slaughter house. He himself would carry away the blood and interiorportions of the pigs, leaving the men who scalded the carcasses to bringthem home completely dressed in their carts. Quenu asserted that noassistant in all Paris was Auguste' equal as a pig-sticker. The truthwas that Auguste was a wonderfully keen judge of the quality of theblood; and the black-pudding proved good every time that he said suchwould be the case. 

"Well, will the black-pudding be good this time?" asked Lisa. 

August put down the two cans and slowly answered: "I believe so, MadameQuenu; yes, I believe so. I tell it at first by the way the blood flows. If it spurts out very gently when I pull out the knife, that's a badsign, and shows that the blood is poor. "

"But doesn't that depend on how far the knife has been stuck in?" askedQuenu. 

A smile came over Auguste's pale face. "No, " he replied; "I always letfour digits of the blade go in; that's the right way to measure. But thebest sign of all is when the blood runs out and I beat it with myhand when it pours into the pail; it ought to be of a good warmth, andcreamy, without being too thick. "

Augustine had put down her needle, and with her eyes raised was nowgazing at Auguste. On her ruddy face, crowned by wiry chestnut hair, there was an expression of profound attention. Lisa and even littlePauline were also listening with deep interest. 

"Well, I beat it, and beat it, and beat it, " continued the young man, whisking his hand about as though he were whipping cream. "And then, when I take my hand out and look at it, it ought to be greased, as itwere, by the blood and equally coated all over. And if that's the case, anyone can say without fear of mistake that the black-puddings will begood. "

He remained for a moment in an easy attitude, complacently holding hishand in the air. This hand, which spent so much of its time in pails ofblood, had brightly gleaming nails, and looked very rosy above his whitesleeve. Quenu had nodded his head in approbation, and an intervalof silence followed. Leon was still mincing. Pauline, however, afterremaining thoughtful for a little while, mounted upon Florent's feetagain, and in her clear voice exclaimed: "I say, cousin, tell me thestory of the gentleman who was eaten by the wild beasts!"

It was probably the mention of the pig's blood which had aroused in thechild's mind the recollection of "the gentleman who had been eaten bythe wild beasts. " Florent did not at first understand what she referredto, and asked her what gentleman she meant. Lisa began to smile. 

"She wants you to tell her, " she said, "the story of that unfortunateman--you know whom I mean--which you told to Gavard one evening. Shemust have heard you. "

At this Florent grew very grave. The little girl got up, and taking thebig cat in her arms, placed it on his knees, saying that Mouton alsowould like to hear the story. Mouton, however, leapt on to the table, where, with rounded back, he remained contemplating the tall, scraggyindividual who for the last fortnight had apparently afforded him matterfor deep reflection. Pauline meantime began to grow impatient, stampingher feet and insisting on hearing the story. 

"Oh, tell her what she wants, " said Lisa, as the child persisted andbecame quite unbearable; "she'll leave us in peace then. "

Florent remained silent for a moment longer, with his eyes turnedtowards the floor. Then slowly raising his head he let his gaze restfirst on the two women who were plying their needles, and next on Quenuand Auguste, who were preparing the pot for the black-puddings. The gaswas burning quietly, the stove diffused a gentle warmth, and all thegrease of the kitchen glistened in an atmosphere of comfort such asattends good digestion

Then, taking little Pauline upon his knee, and smiling a sad smile, Florent addressed himself to the child as follows[*]:--

 [*] Florent's narrative is not romance, but is based on the statements of several of the innocent victims whom the third Napoleon transported to Cayenne when wading through blood to the power which he so misused. --Translator. 

"Once upon a time there was a poor man who was sent away, a long, longway off, right across the sea. On the ship which carried him were fourhundred convicts, and he was thrown among them. He was forced to livefor five weeks amidst all those scoundrels, dressed like them in coarsecanvas, and feeding at their mess. Foul insects preyed on him, andterrible sweats robbed him of all his strength. The kitchen, thebakehouse, and the engine-room made the orlop deck so terribly hot thatten of the convicts died from it. In the daytime they were sent up inbatches of fifty to get a little fresh air from the sea; and as the crewof the ship feared them, a couple of cannons were pointed at the littlebit of deck where they took exercise. The poor fellow was very gladindeed when his turn to go up came. His terrible perspiration thenabated somewhat; still, he could not eat, and felt very ill. During thenight, when he was manacled again, and the rolling of the ship in therough sea kept knocking him against his companions, he quite broke down, and began to cry, glad to be able to do so without being seen. "

Pauline was listening with dilated eyes, and her little hands crossedprimly in front of her. 

"But this isn't the story of the gentleman who was eaten by the wildbeasts, " she interrupted. "This is quite a different story; isn't itnow, cousin?"

"Wait a bit, and you'll see, " replied Florent gently. "I shall cometo the gentleman presently. I'm telling you the whole story from thebeginning. "

"Oh, thank you, " murmured the child, with a delighted expression. However, she remained thoughtful, evidently struggling with some greatdifficulty to which she could find no explanation. At last she spoke. 

"But what had the poor man done, " she asked, "that he was sent away andput in the ship?"

Lisa and Augustine smiled. They were quite charmed with the child'sintelligence; and Lisa, without giving the little one a direct reply, took advantage of the opportunity to teach her a lesson by telling herthat naughty children were also sent away in boats like that. 

"Oh, then, " remarked Pauline judiciously, "perhaps it served my cousin'spoor man quite right if he cried all night long. "

Lisa resumed her sewing, bending over her work. Quenu had not listened. He had been cutting some little rounds of onion over a pot placed on thefire; and almost at once the onions began to crackle, raising a clearshrill chirrup like that of grasshoppers basking in the heat. They gaveout a pleasant odour too, and when Quenu plunged his great wooden spooninto the pot the chirruping became yet louder, and the whole kitchen wasfilled with the penetrating perfume of the onions. Auguste meantime waspreparing some bacon fat in a dish, and Leon's chopper fell fasterand faster, and every now and then scraped the block so as to gathertogether the sausage-meat, now almost a paste. 

"When they got across the sea, " Florent continued, "they took the man toan island called the Devil's Island, [*] where he found himself amongstothers who had been carried away from their own country. They wereall very unhappy. At first they were kept to hard labour, just likeconvicts. The gendarme who had charge of them counted them three timesevery day, so as to be sure that none were missing. Later on, they wereleft free to do as they liked, being merely locked up at night in a bigwooden hut, where they slept in hammocks stretched between two bars. At the end of the year they went about barefooted, as their boots werequite worn out, and their clothes had become so ragged that their fleshshowed through them. They had built themselves some huts with trunksof trees as a shelter against the sun, which is terribly hot in thoseparts; but these huts did not shield them against the mosquitoes, whichcovered them with pimples and swellings during the night. Many of themdied, and the others turned quite yellow, so shrunken and wretched, with their long, unkempt beards, that one could not behold them withoutpity. "

 [*] The Ile du Diable. This spot was selected as the place of detention of Captain Dreyfus, the French officer convicted in 1894 of having divulged important military documents to foreign powers. --Translator. 

"Auguste, give me the fat, " cried Quenu; and when the apprentice hadhanded him the dish he let the pieces of bacon-fat slide gently into thepot, and then stirred them with his spoon. A yet denser steam now rosefrom the fireplace. 

"What did they give them to eat?" asked little Pauline, who seemeddeeply interested. 

"They gave them maggoty rice and foul meat, " answered Florent, whosevoice grew lower as he spoke. "The rice could scarcely be eaten. Whenthe meat was roasted and very well done it was just possible to swallowit; but if it was boiled, it smelt so dreadfully that the men had nauseaand stomach ache. "

"I'd rather have lived upon dry bread, " said the child, after thinkingthe matter carefully over. 

Leon, having finished the mincing, now placed the sausage-meat upon thesquare table in a dish. Mouton, who had remained seated with his eyesfixed upon Florent, as though filled with amazement by his story, wasobliged to retreat a few steps, which he did with a very bad grace. Thenhe rolled himself up, with his nose close to the sausage-meat, and beganto purr. 

Lisa was unable to conceal her disgust and amazement. That foulrice, that evil-smelling meat, seemed to her to be scarcely credibleabominations, which disgraced those who had eaten them as much as it didthose who had provided them; and her calm, handsome face and round neckquivered with vague fear of the man who had lived upon such horrid food. 

"No, indeed, it was not a land of delights, " Florent resumed, forgettingall about little Pauline, and fixing his dreamy eyes upon the steamingpot. "Every day brought fresh annoyances--perpetual grinding tyranny, the violation of every principle of justice, contempt for all humancharity, which exasperated the prisoners, and slowly consumed them witha fever of sickly rancour. They lived like wild beasts, with the lashceaselessly raised over their backs. Those torturers would have liked tokill the poor man--Oh, no; it can never be forgotten; it is impossible!Such sufferings will some day claim vengeance. "

His voice had fallen, and the pieces of fat hissing merrily in the potdrowned it with the sound of their boiling. Lisa, however, heard him, and was frightened by the implacable expression which had suddenly comeover his face; and, recollecting the gentle look which he habituallywore, she judged him to be a hypocrite. 

Florent's hollow voice had brought Pauline's interest and delight to thehighest pitch, and she fidgeted with pleasure on his knee. 

"But the man?" she exclaimed. "Go on about the man!"

Florent looked at her, and then appeared to remember, and smiled his sadsmile again. 

"The man, " he continued, "was weary of remaining on the island, andhad but one thought--that of making his escape by crossing the seaand reaching the mainland, whose white coast line could be seen on thehorizon in clear weather. But it was no easy matter to escape. It wasnecessary that a raft should be built, and as several of the prisonershad already made their escape, all the trees on the island had beenfelled to prevent the others from obtaining timber. The island was, indeed, so bare and naked, so scorched by the blazing sun, that life init had become yet more perilous and terrible. However, it occurred tothe man and two of his companions to employ the timbers of which theirhuts were built; and one evening they put out to sea on some rottenbeams, which they had fastened together with dry branches. The windcarried them towards the coast. Just as daylight was about to appear, the raft struck on a sandbank with such violence that the beams weresevered from their lashings and carried out to sea. The three poorfellows were almost engulfed in the sand. Two of them sank in it totheir waists, while the third disappeared up to his chin, and hiscompanions were obliged to pull him out. At last they reached a rock, so small that there was scarcely room for them to sit down upon it. Whenthe sun rose they could see the coast in front of them, a bar of greycliffs stretching all along the horizon. Two, who knew how to swim, determined to reach those cliffs. They preferred to run the risk ofbeing drowned at once to that of slowly starving on the rock. But theypromised their companion that they would return for him when they hadreached land and had been able to procure a boat. "

"Ah, I know now!" cried little Pauline, clapping her hands with glee. "It's the story of the gentleman who was eaten by the crabs!"

"They succeeded in reaching the coast, " continued Florent, "but it wasquite deserted; and it was only at the end of four days that they wereable to get a boat. When they returned to the rock, they found theircompanion lying on his back, dead, and half-eaten by crabs, which werestill swarming over what remained of his body. "[*]

 [*] In deference to the easily shocked feelings of the average English reader I have somewhat modified this passage. In the original M. Zola fully describes the awful appearance of the body. --Translator. A murmur of disgust escaped Lisa and Augustine, and a horrified grimacepassed over the face of Leon, who was preparing the skins for theblack-puddings. Quenu stopped in the midst of his work and lookedat Auguste, who seemed to have turned faint. Only little Paulinewas smiling. In imagination the others could picture those swarming, ravenous crabs crawling all over the kitchen, and mingling gruesomeodours with the aroma of the bacon-fat and onions. 

"Give me the blood, " cried Quenu, who had not been following the story. 

Auguste came up to him with the two cans, from which he slowlypoured the blood, while Quenu, as it fell, vigorously stirred thenow thickening contents of the pot. When the cans were emptied, Quenureached up to one of the drawers above the range, and took out somepinches of spice. Then he added a plentiful seasoning of pepper. 

"They left him there, didn't they, " Lisa now asked of Florent, "andreturned themselves in safety?"

"As they were going back, " continued Florent, "the wind changed, andthey were driven out into the open sea. A wave carried away one of theiroars, and the water swept so furiously into the boat that their wholetime was taken up in baling it out with their hands. They tossed aboutin this way in sight of the coast, carried away by squalls and thenbrought back again by the tide, without a mouthful of bread to eat, fortheir scanty stock of provisions had been consumed. This went on forthree days. "

"Three days!" cried Lisa in stupefaction; "three days without food!"

"Yes, three days without food. When the east wind at last brought themto shore, one of them was so weak that he lay on the beach the wholeday. In the evening he died. His companion had vainly attempted to gethim to chew some leaves which he gathered from the trees. "

At this point Augustine broke into a slight laugh. Then, ashamed athaving done so and not wishing to be considered heartless, she stammeredout in confusion: "Oh! I wasn't laughing at that. It was Mouton. Do justlook at Mouton, madame. "

Then Lisa in her turn began to smile. Mouton, who had been lying allthis time with his nose close to the dish of sausage-meat, had probablybegun to feel distressed and disgusted by the presence of all this food, for he had risen and was rapidly scratching the table with his paws asthough he wanted to bury the dish and its contents. At last, however, turning his back to it and lying down on his side, he stretched himselfout, half closing his eyes and rubbing his head against the table withlanguid pleasure. Then they all began to compliment Mouton. He neverstole anything, they said, and could be safely left with the meat. Pauline related that he licked her fingers and washed her face afterdinner without trying to bite her. 

However, Lisa now came back to the question as to whether it werepossible to live for three days without food. In her opinion it was not. "No, " she said, "I can't believe it. No one ever goes three dayswithout food. When people talk of a person dying of hunger, it is a mereexpression. They always get something to eat, more or less. It is onlythe most abandoned wretches, people who are utterly lost----"

She was doubtless going to add, "vagrant rogues, " but she stopped shortand looked at Florent. The scornful pout of her lips and the expressionof her bright eyes plainly signified that in her belief only villainsmade such prolonged fasts. It seemed to her that a man able to remainwithout food for three days must necessarily be a very dangerouscharacter. For, indeed, honest folks never placed themselves in such aposition. 

Florent was now almost stifling. In front of him the stove, into whichLeon had just thrown several shovelfuls of coal, was snoring like a layclerk asleep in the sun; and the heat was very great. Auguste, who hadtaken charge of the lard melting in the pots, was watching over it in astate of perspiration, and Quenu wiped his brow with his sleeve whilstwaiting for the blood to mix. A drowsiness such as follows grossfeeding, an atmosphere heavy with indigestion, pervaded the kitchen. 

"When the man had buried his comrade in the sand, " Florent continuedslowly, "he walked off alone straight in front of him. Dutch Guiana, inwhich country he now was, is a land of forests intermingled with riversand swamps. The man walked on for more than a week without coming acrossa single human dwelling-place. All around, death seemed to be lurkingand lying in wait for him. Though his stomach was racked by hunger, heoften did not dare to eat the bright-coloured fruits which hung from thetrees; he was afraid to touch the glittering berries, fearing lest theyshould be poisonous. For whole days he did not see a patch of sky, buttramped on beneath a canopy of branches, amidst a greenish gloom thatswarmed with horrible living creatures. Great birds flew over his headwith a terrible flapping of wings and sudden strange calls resemblingdeath groans; apes sprang, wild animals rushed through the thicketsaround him, bending the saplings and bringing down a rain of leaves, asthough a gale were passing. But it was particularly the serpents thatturned his blood cold when, stepping upon a matting of moving, witheredleaves, he caught sight of their slim heads gliding amidst a horrid mazeof roots. In certain nooks, nooks of dank shadow, swarming coloniesof reptiles--some black, some yellow, some purple, some striped, somespotted, and some resembling withered reeds--suddenly awakened into lifeand wriggled away. At such times the man would stop and look about fora stone on which he might take refuge from the soft yielding groundinto which his feet sank; and there he would remain for hours, terror-stricken on espying in some open space near by a boa, who, with tail coiled and head erect, swayed like the trunk of a big treesplotched with gold. 

"At night he used to sleep in the trees, alarmed by the slightestrustling of the branches, and fancying that he could hear endless swarmsof serpents gliding through the gloom. He almost stifled beneath theinterminable expanse of foliage. The gloomy shade reeked with close, oppressive heat, a clammy dankness and pestilential sweat, impregnatedwith the coarse aroma of scented wood and malodorous flowers. 

"And when at last, after a long weary tramp, the man made his way out ofthe forest and beheld the sky again, he found himself confronted by widerivers which barred his way. He skirted their banks, keeping a watchfuleye on the grey backs of the alligators and the masses of driftingvegetation, and then, when he came to a less suspicious-looking spot, he swam across. And beyond the rivers the forests began again. At othertimes there were vast prairie lands, leagues of thick vegetation, inwhich, at distant intervals, small lakes gleamed bluely. The man thenmade a wide detour, and sounded the ground beneath him before advancing, having but narrowly escaped from being swallowed up and buried beneathone of those smiling plains which he could hear cracking at each step hetook. The giant grass, nourished by all the collected humus, concealedpestiferous marshes, depths of liquid mud; and amongst the expanses ofverdure spread over the glaucous immensity to the very horizon therewere only narrow stretches of firm ground with which the traveller mustbe acquainted if he would avoid disappearing for ever. One night theman sank down as far as his waist. At each effort he made to extricatehimself the mud threatened to rise to his mouth. Then he remainedquite still for nearly a couple of hours; and when the moon rose he wasfortunately able to catch hold of a branch of a tree above his head. Bythe time he reached a human dwelling his hands and feet were bruised andbleeding, swollen with poisonous stings. He presented such a pitiable, famished appearance that those who saw him were afraid of him. Theytossed him some food fifty yards away from the house, and the master ofit kept guard over his door with a loaded gun. "

Florent stopped, his voice choked by emotion, and his eyes gazingblankly before him. For some minutes he had seemed to be speaking tohimself alone. Little Pauline, who had grown drowsy, was lying in hisarms with her head thrown back, though striving to keep her wonderingeyes open. And Quenu, for his part, appeared to be getting impatient. 

"Why, you stupid!" he shouted to Leon, "don't you know how to hold askin yet? What do you stand staring at me for? It's the skin you shouldlook at, not me! There, hold it like that, and don't move again!"

With his right hand Leon was raising a long string of sausage-skin, atone end of which a very wide funnel was inserted; while with his lefthand he coiled the black-pudding round a metal bowl as fast as Quenufilled the funnel with big spoonfuls of the meat. The latter, black andsteaming, flowed through the funnel, gradually inflating the skin, whichfell down again, gorged to repletion and curving languidly. As Quenu hadremoved the pot from the range both he and Leon stood out prominently, he broad visaged, and the lad slender of profile, in the burning glowwhich cast over their pale faces and white garments a flood of rosylight. 

Lisa and Augustine watched the filling of the skin with great interest, Lisa especially; and she in her turn found fault with Leon because henipped the skin too tightly with his fingers, which caused knots toform, she said. When the skin was quite full, Quenu let it slip gentlyinto a pot of boiling water; and seemed quite easy in his mind again, for now nothing remained but to leave it to boil. 

"And the man--go on about the man!" murmured Pauline, opening her eyes, and surprised at no longer hearing the narrative. 

Florent rocked her on his knee, and resumed his story in a slow, murmuring voice, suggestive of that of a nurse singing an infant tosleep. 

"The man, " he said, "arrived at a large town. There he was at firsttaken for an escaped convict, and was kept in prison for several months. Then he was released, and turned his hand to all sorts of work. Hekept accounts and taught children to read, and at one time he was evenemployed as a navvy in making an embankment. He was continually hopingto return to his own country. He had saved the necessary amount of moneywhen he was attacked by yellow fever. Then, believing him to be dead, those about him divided his clothes amongst themselves; so that when heat last recovered he had not even a shirt left. He had to begin all overagain. The man was very weak, and was afraid he might have to remainwhere he was. But at last he was able to get away, and he returned. "

His voice had sunk lower and lower, and now died away altogether in afinal quivering of his lips. The close of the story had lulled littlePauline to sleep, and she was now slumbering with her head on Florent'sshoulder. He held her with one arm, and still gently rocked her on hisknee. No one seemed to pay any further attention to him, so he remainedstill and quiet where he was, holding the sleeping child. 

Now came the tug of war, as Quenu said. He had to remove theblack-puddings from the pot. In order to avoid breaking them or gettingthem entangled, he coiled them round a thick wooden pin as he drew themout, and then carried them into the yard and hung them on screens, wherethey quickly dried. Leon helped him, holding up the drooping ends. Andas these reeking festoons of black-pudding crossed the kitchen they leftbehind them a trail of odorous steam, which still further thickened thedense atmosphere. 

Auguste, on his side, after giving a hasty glance at the lard moulds, now took the covers off the two pots in which the fat was simmering, andeach bursting bubble discharged an acrid vapour into the kitchen. Thegreasy haze had been gradually rising ever since the beginning ofthe evening, and now it shrouded the gas and pervaded the whole room, streaming everywhere, and veiling the ruddy whiteness of Quenu and histwo assistants. Lisa and Augustine had risen from their seats; and allwere panting as though they had eaten too much. 

Augustine carried the sleeping Pauline upstairs; and Quenu, who liked tofasten up the kitchen himself, gave Auguste and Leon leave to go tobed, saying that he would fetch the black-pudding himself. The youngerapprentice stole off with a very red face, having managed to secreteunder his shirt nearly a yard of the pudding, which must have almostscalded him. Then the Quenus and Florent remained alone, in silence. Lisa stood nibbling a little piece of the hot pudding, keeping herpretty lips well apart all the while, for fear of burning them, andgradually the black compound vanished in her rosy mouth. 

"Well, " said she, "La Normande was foolish in behaving so rudely; theblack-pudding's excellent to-day. "

However, there was a knock at the passage door, and Gavard, who stayedat Monsieur Lebigre's every evening until midnight, came in. He hadcalled for a definite answer about the fish inspectorship. 

"You must understand, " he said, "that Monsieur Verlaque cannot wait anylonger; he is too ill. So Florent must make up his mind. I have promisedto give a positive answer early to-morrow. "

"Well, Florent accepts, " Lisa quietly remarked, taking another nibble atsome black-pudding. 

Florent, who had remained in his chair, overcome by a strange feeling ofprostration, vainly endeavoured to rise and protest. 

"No, no, say nothing, " continued Lisa; "the matter is quite settled. Youhave suffered quite enough already, my dear Florent. What you have justbeen telling us is enough to make one shudder. It is time now for youto settle down. You belong to a respectable family, you received a goodeducation, and it is really not fitting that you should go wanderingabout the highways like a vagrant. At your age childishness is no longerexcusable. You have been foolish; well, all that will be forgottenand forgiven. You will take your place again among those of your ownclass--the class of respectable folks--and live in future like otherpeople. "

Florent listened in astonishment, quite unable to say a word. Lisawas, doubtless, right. She looked so healthy, so serene, that it wasimpossible to imagine that she desired anything but what was proper. Itwas he, with his fleshless body and dark, equivocal-looking countenance, who must be in the wrong, and indulging in unrighteous dreams. He could, indeed, no longer understand why he had hitherto resisted. 

Lisa, however, continued to talk to him with an abundant flow of words, as though he were a little boy found in fault and threatened with thepolice. She assumed, indeed, a most maternal manner, and plied him withthe most convincing reasons. And at last, as a final argument, she said:

"Do it for us, Florent. We occupy a fair position in the neighbourhoodwhich obliges us to use a certain amount of circumspection; and, to tellyou the truth, between ourselves, I'm afraid that people will beginto talk. This inspectorship will set everything right; you will besomebody; you will even be an honour to us. "

Her manner had become caressingly persuasive, and Florent was penetratedby all the surrounding plenteousness, all the aroma filling the kitchen, where he fed, as it were, on the nourishment floating in the atmosphere. He sank into blissful meanness, born of all the copious feeding thatwent on in the sphere of plenty in which he had been living during thelast fortnight. He felt, as it were, the titillation of forming fatwhich spread slowly all over his body. He experienced the languidbeatitude of shopkeepers, whose chief concern is to fill their bellies. At this late hour of night, in the warm atmosphere of the kitchen, allhis acerbity and determination melted away. That peaceable evening, with the odour of the black-pudding and the lard, and the sight of plumplittle Pauline slumbering on his knee, had so enervated him that hefound himself wishing for a succession of such evenings--endless oneswhich would make him fat. 

However, it was the sight of Mouton that chiefly decided him. Mouton wassound asleep, with his stomach turned upwards, one of his paws restingon his nose, and his tail twisted over this side, as though to keep himwarm; and he was slumbering with such an expression of feline happinessthat Florent, as he gazed at him, murmured: "No, it would be toofoolish! I accept the berth. Say that I accept it, Gavard. "

Then Lisa finished eating her black-pudding, and wiped her fingers onthe edge of her apron. And next she got her brother-in-law's candleready for him, while Gavard and Quenu congratulated him on his decision. It was always necessary for a man to settle down, said they; thebreakneck freaks of politics did not provide one with food. And, meantime, Lisa, standing there with the lighted candle in her hand, looked at him with an expression of satisfaction resting on her handsomeface, placid like that of some sacred cow. 

CHAPTER III

Three days later the necessary formalities were gone through, andwithout demur the police authorities at the Prefecture accepted Florenton Monsieur Verlaque's recommendation as his substitute. Gavard, by theway, had made it a point to accompany them. When he again found himselfalone with Florent he kept nudging his ribs with his elbow as theywalked along together, and laughed, without saying anything, whilewinking his eyes in a jeering way. He seemed to find something veryridiculous in the appearance of the police officers whom they met onthe Quai de l'Horloge, for, as he passed them, he slightly shrugged hisshoulders and made the grimace of a man seeking to restrain himself fromlaughing in people's faces. 

On the following morning Monsieur Verlaque began to initiate the newinspector into the duties of his office. It had been arranged thatduring the next few days he should make him acquainted with theturbulent sphere which he would have to supervise. Poor Verlaque, as Gavard called him was a pale little man, swathed in flannels, handkerchiefs, and mufflers. Constantly coughing, he made his waythrough the cool, moist atmosphere, and running waters of the fishmarket, on a pair of scraggy legs like those of a sickly child. 

When Florent made his appearance on the first morning, at seven o'clock, he felt quite distracted; his eyes were dazed, his head ached withall the noise and riot. Retail dealers were already prowling aboutthe auction pavilion; clerks were arriving with their ledgers, andconsigners' agents, with leather bags slung over their shoulders, saton overturned chairs by the salesmen's desks, waiting to receive theircash. Fish was being unloaded and unpacked not only in the enclosure, but even on the footways. All along the latter were piles of smallbaskets, an endless arrival of cases and hampers, and sacks of mussels, from which streamlets of water trickled. The auctioneers' assistants, all looking very busy, sprang over the heaps, tore away the straw atthe tops of the baskets, emptied the latter, and tossed them aside. They then speedily transferred their contents in lots to huge wickerworktrays, arranging them with a turn of the hand so that they might showto the best advantage. And when the large tray-like baskets were allset out, Florent could almost fancy that a whole shoal of fish had gotstranded there, still quivering with life, and gleaming with rosy nacre, scarlet coral, and milky pearl, all the soft, pale, sheeny hues of theocean. 

The deep-lying forests of seaweed, in which the mysterious life of theocean slumbers, seemed at one haul of the nets to have yielded up allthey contained. There were cod, keeling, whiting, flounders, plaice, dabs, and other sorts of common fish of a dingy grey with whitishsplotches; there were conger-eels, huge serpent-like creatures, withsmall black eyes and muddy, bluish skins, so slimy that they stillseemed to be gliding along, yet alive. There were broad flat skatewith pale undersides edged with a soft red, and superb backs bumpy withvertebrae, and marbled down to the tautly stretched ribs of theirfins with splotches of cinnabar, intersected by streaks of the tint ofFlorentine bronze--a dark medley of colour suggestive of the hues of atoad or some poisonous flower. Then, too, there were hideous dog-fish, with round heads, widely-gaping mouths like those of Chinese idols, andshort fins like bats' wings; fit monsters to keep yelping guard over thetreasures of the ocean grottoes. And next came the finer fish, displayedsingly on the osier trays; salmon that gleamed like chased silver, everyscale seemingly outlined by a graving-tool on a polished metal surface;mullet with larger scales and coarser markings; large turbot and hugebrill with firm flesh white like curdled milk; tunny-fish, smooth andglossy, like bags of blackish leather; and rounded bass, with widelygaping mouths which a soul too large for the body seemed to have rentasunder as it forced its way out amidst the stupefaction of death. Andon all sides there were sole, brown and grey, in pairs; sand-eels, slimand stiff, like shavings of pewter; herrings, slightly twisted, withbleeding gills showing on their silver-worked skins; fat dories tingedwith just a suspicion of carmine; burnished mackerel with green-streakedbacks, and sides gleaming with ever-changing iridescence; and rosygurnets with white bellies, their head towards the centre of the basketsand their tails radiating all around, so that they simulated somestrange florescence splotched with pearly white and brilliant vermilion. There were rock mullet, too, with delicious flesh, flushed with thepinky tinge peculiar to the Cyprinus family; boxes of whiting withopaline reflections; and baskets of smelts--neat little baskets, prettyas those used for strawberries, and exhaling a strong scent of violets. And meantime the tiny black eyes of the shrimps dotted as with beadsof jet their soft-toned mass of pink and grey; and spiny crawfish andlobsters striped with black, all still alive, raised a grating sound asthey tried to crawl along with their broken claws. 

Florent gave but indifferent attention to Monsieur Verlaque'sexplanations. A flood of sunshine suddenly streamed through the loftyglass roof of the covered way, lighting up all these precious colours, toned and softened by the waves--the iridescent flesh-tints of theshell-fish, the opal of the whiting, the pearly nacre of the mackerel, the ruddy gold of the mullets, the plated skins of the herrings, andmassive silver of the salmon. It was as though the jewel-cases of somesea-nymph had been emptied there--a mass of fantastical, undreamt-ofornaments, a streaming and heaping of necklaces, monstrous bracelets, gigantic brooches, barbaric gems and jewels, the use of which could notbe divined. On the backs of the skate and the dog-fish you saw, as itwere, big dull green and purple stones set in dark metal, while theslender forms of the sand-eels and the tails and fins of the smeltsdisplayed all the delicacy of finely wrought silver-work. 

And meantime Florent's face was fanned by a fresh breeze, a sharp, saltbreeze redolent of the sea. It reminded him of the coasts of Guiana andhis voyages. He half fancied that he was gazing at some bay left dry bythe receding tide, with the seaweed steaming in the sun, the bare rocksdrying, and the beach smelling strongly of the brine. All around himthe fish in their perfect freshness exhaled a pleasant perfume, thatslightly sharp, irritating perfume which depraves the appetite. 

Monsieur Verlaque coughed. The dampness was affecting him, and hewrapped his muffler more closely about his neck. 

"Now, " said he, "we will pass on to the fresh water fish. "

This was in a pavilion beside the fruit market, the last one, indeed, inthe direction of the Rue Rambuteau. On either side of the space reservedfor the auctions were large circular stone basins, divided into separatecompartments by iron gratings. Slender streams of water flowed frombrass jets shaped like swan's necks; and the compartments were filledwith swarming colonies of crawfish, black-backed carp ever on themove, and mazy tangles of eels, incessantly knotting and unknottingthemselves. Again was Monsieur Verlaque attacked by an obstinate fitof coughing. The moisture of the atmosphere was more insipid herethan amongst the sea water fish: there was a riverside scent, as ofsun-warmed water slumbering on a bed of sand. 

A great number of crawfishes had arrived from Germany that morning incases and hampers, and the market was also crowded with river fish fromHolland and England. Several men were unpacking shiny carp from theRhine, lustrous with ruddy metallic hues, their scales resemblingbronzed _cloisonne_ enamel; and others were busy with huge pike, thecruel iron-grey brigands of the waters, who ravenously protruded theirsavage jaws; or with magnificent dark-hued with verdigris. And amidstthese suggestions of copper, iron, and bronze, the gudgeon and perch, the trout, the bleak, and the flat-fish taken in sweep-nets showedbrightly white, the steel-blue tints of their backs gradually toningdown to the soft transparency of their bellies. However, it was thefat snowy-white barbel that supplied the liveliest brightness in thisgigantic collection of still life. 

Bags of young carp were being gently emptied into the basins. The fishspun round, then remained motionless for a moment, and at last shot awayand disappeared. Little eels were turned out of their hampers in a mass, and fell to the bottom of the compartments like tangled knots of snakes;while the larger ones--those whose bodies were about as thick as achild's arm--raised their heads and slipped of their own accord into thewater with the supple motion of serpents gliding into the concealmentof a thicket. And meantime the other fish, whose death agony hadbeen lasting all the morning as they lay on the soiled osiers of thebasket-trays, slowly expired amidst all the uproar of the auctions, opening their mouths as though to inhale the moisture of the air, withgreat silent gasps, renewed every few seconds. 

However, Monsieur Verlaque brought Florent back to the salt water fish. He took him all over the place and gave him the minutest particularsabout everything. Round the nine salesmen's desks ranged along threesides of the pavilion there was now a dense crowd of surging, swayingheads, above which appeared the clerks, perched upon high chairs andmaking entries in their ledgers. 

"Are all these clerks employed by the salesmen?" asked Florent. 

By way of reply Monsieur Verlaque made a detour along the outsidefootway, led him into the enclosure of one of the auctions, and thenexplained the working of the various departments of the big yellowoffice, which smelt strongly of fish and was stained all overby drippings and splashings from the hampers. In a little glazedcompartment up above, the collector of the municipal dues took note ofthe prices realised by the different lots of fish. Lower down, seatedupon high chairs and with their wrists resting upon little desks, weretwo female clerks, who kept account of the business on behalf of thesalesmen. At each end of the stone table in front of the office was acrier who brought the basket-trays forward in turn, and in a bawlingvoice announced what each lot consisted of; while above him the femaleclerk, pen in hand, waited to register the price at which the lotswere knocked down. And outside the enclosure, shut up in another littleoffice of yellow wood, Monsieur Verlaque showed Florent the cashier, afat old woman, who was ranging coppers and five-franc pierces in piles. 

"There is a double control, you see, " said Monsieur Verlaque; "thecontrol of the Prefecture of the Seine and that of the Prefecture ofPolice. The latter, which licenses the salesmen, claims to have theright of supervision over them; and the municipality asserts its rightto be represented at the transactions as they are subject to taxation. "

He went on expatiating at length in his faint cold voice respecting therival claims of the two Prefectures. Florent, however, was paying butlittle heed, his attention being concentrated on a female clerk sittingon one of the high chairs just in front of him. She was a tall, darkwoman of thirty, with big black eyes and an easy calmness of manner, andshe wrote with outstretched fingers like a girl who had been taught theregulation method of the art. 

However, Florent's attention was diverted by the yelping of the crier, who was just offering a magnificent turbot for sale. 

"I've a bid of thirty francs! Thirty francs, now; thirty francs!"

He repeated these words in all sorts of keys, running up and down astrange scale of notes full of sudden changes. Humpbacked and with hisface twisted askew, and his hair rough and disorderly, he wore a greatblue apron with a bib; and with flaming eyes and outstretched arms hecried vociferously: "Thirty-one! thirty-two! thirty-three! Thirty-threefrancs fifty centimes! thirty-three fifty!"

Then he paused to take breath, turning the basket-tray and pushing itfarther upon the table. The fish-wives bent forward and gently touchedthe turbot with their finger-tips. Then the crier began again withrenewed energy, hurling his figures towards the buyers with a waveof the hand and catching the slightest indication of a fresh bid--theraising of a finger, a twist of the eyebrows, a pouting of the lips, awink, and all with such rapidity and such a ceaseless jumble of wordsthat Florent, utterly unable to follow him, felt quite disconcertedwhen, in a sing-song voice like that of a priest intoning the finalwords of a versicle, he chanted: "Forty-two! forty-two! The turbot goesfor forty-two francs. "

It was the beautiful Norman who had made the last bid. Florentrecognised her as she stood in the line of fish-wives crowding againstthe iron rails which surrounded the enclosure. The morning was freshand sharp, and there was a row of tippets above the display of big whiteaprons, covering the prominent bosoms and stomachs and sturdy shoulders. With high-set chignon set off with curls, and white and dainty skin, the beautiful Norman flaunted her lace bow amidst tangled shocks ofhair covered with dirty kerchiefs, red noses eloquent of drink, sneering mouths, and battered faces suggestive of old pots. And she alsorecognised Madame Quenu's cousin, and was so surprised to see him therethat she began gossiping to her neighbours about him. 

The uproar of voices had become so great that Monsieur Verlaquerenounced all further attempt to explain matters to Florent. On thefootway close by, men were calling out the larger fish withprolonged shouts, which sounded as though they came from giganticspeaking-trumpets; and there was one individual who roared "Mussels!Mussels!" in such a hoarse, cracked, clamorous voice that the very roofsof the market shook. Some sacks of mussels were turned upside down, and their contents poured into hampers, while others were emptied withshovels. And there was a ceaseless procession of basket-trays containingskate, soles, mackerel, conger-eels, and salmon, carried backwards andforwards amidst the ever-increasing cackle and pushing of the fish-womenas they crowded against the iron rails which creaked with theirpressure. The humpbacked crier, now fairly on the job, waved his skinnyarms in the air and protruded his jaws. Presently, seemingly lashed intoa state of frenzy by the flood of figures that spurted from his lips, hesprang upon a stool, where, with his mouth twisted spasmodically andhis hair streaming behind him, he could force nothing more thanunintelligible hisses from his parched throat. And in the meantime, upabove, the collector of municipal dues, a little old man, muffled ina collar of imitation astrachan, remained with nothing but his noseshowing under his black velvet skullcap. And the tall, dark-complexionedfemale clerk, with eyes shining calmly in her face, which had beenslightly reddened by the cold, sat on her high wooden chair, quietlywriting, apparently unruffled by the continuous rattle which came fromthe hunchback below her. 

"That fellow Logre is wonderful, " muttered Monsieur Verlaque with asmile. "He is the best crier in the markets. I believe he could makepeople buy boot soles in the belief they were fish!"

Then he and Florent went back into the pavilion. As they again passedthe spot where the fresh water fish was being sold by auction, and wherethe bidding seemed much quieter, Monsieur Verlaque explained that Frenchriver fishing was in a bad way. [*] The crier here, a fair, sorry-lookingfellow, who scarcely moved his arms, was disposing of some lots of eelsand crawfish in a monotonous voice, while the assistants fished freshsupplies out of the stone basins with their short-handled nets. 

 [*] M. Zola refers, of course, to the earlier years of the Second Empire. Under the present republican Government, which has largely fostered fish culture, matters have considerably improved. --Translator. 

However, the crowd round the salesmen's desks was still increasing. Monsieur Verlaque played his part as Florent's instructor in the mostconscientious manner, clearing the way by means of his elbows, andguiding his successor through the busiest parts. The upper-class retaildealers were there, quietly waiting for some of the finer fish, orloading the porters with their purchases of turbot, tunny, and salmon. The street-hawkers who had clubbed together to buy lots of herrings andsmall flat-fish were dividing them on the pavement. There were also somepeople of the smaller middle class, from distant parts of the city, whohad come down at four o'clock in the morning to buy a really fresh fish, and had ended by allowing some enormous lot, costing from forty to fiftyfrancs, to be knocked down to them, with the result that they wouldbe obliged to spend the whole day in getting their friends andacquaintances to take the surplus off their hands. Every now and thensome violent pushing would force a gap through part of the crowd. Afish-wife, who had got tightly jammed, freed herself, shaking her fistsand pouring out a torrent of abuse. Then a compact mass of people againcollected, and Florent, almost suffocated, declared that he had seenquite enough, and understood all that was necessary. 

As Monsieur Verlaque was helping him to extricate himself from thecrowd, they found themselves face to face with the handsome Norman. She remained stock-still in front of them, and with her queenly airinquired:

"Well, is it quite settled? You are going to desert us, MonsieurVerlaque?"

"Yes, yes, " replied the little man; "I am going to take a rest in thecountry, at Clamart. The smell of the fish is bad for me, it seems. Here, this is the gentleman who is going to take my place. "

So speaking he turned round to introduce Florent to her. The handsomeNorman almost choked; however, as Florent went off, he fancied he couldhear her whisper to her neighbours, with a laugh: "Well, we shall havesome fine fun now, see if we don't!"

The fish-wives had begun to set out their stalls. From all the taps atthe corners of the marble slabs water was gushing freely; and there wasa rustling sound all round, like the plashing of rain, a streaming ofstiff jets of water hissing and spurting. And then, from the lower sideof the sloping slabs, great drops fell with a softened murmur, splashingon the flagstones where a mass of tiny streams flowed along hereand there, turning holes and depressions into miniature lakes, andafterwards gliding in a thousand rills down the slope towards the RueRambuteau. A moist haze ascended, a sort of rainy dust, bringing freshwhiffs of air to Florent's face, whiffs of that salt, pungent sea breezewhich he remembered so well; while in such fish as was already laid outhe once more beheld the rosy nacres, gleaming corals, and milky pearls, all the rippling colour and glaucous pallidity of the ocean world. 

That first morning left him much in doubt; indeed, he regretted that hehad yielded to Lisa's insistence. Ever since his escape from the greasydrowsiness of the kitchen he had been accusing himself of base weaknesswith such violence that tears had almost risen in his eyes. But he didnot dare to go back on his word. He was a little afraid of Lisa, andcould see the curl of her lips and the look of mute reproach upon herhandsome face. He felt that she was too serious a woman to be trifledwith. However, Gavard happily inspired him with a consoling thought. On the evening of the day on which Monsieur Verlaque had conducted himthrough the auction sales, Gavard took him aside and told him, with agood deal of hesitation, that "the poor devil" was not at all well off. And after various remarks about the scoundrelly Government which groundthe life out of its servants without allowing them even the means to diein comfort, he ended by hinting that it would be charitable on Florent'spart to surrender a part of his salary to the old inspector. Florentwelcomed the suggestion with delight. It was only right, he considered, for he looked upon himself simply as Monsieur Verlaque's temporarysubstitute; and besides, he himself really required nothing, as heboarded and lodged with his brother. Gavard added that he thought ifFlorent gave up fifty francs out of the hundred and fifty which hewould receive monthly, the arrangement would be everything that couldbe desired; and, lowering his voice, he added that it would not be forlong, for the poor fellow was consumptive to his very bones. Finallyit was settled that Florent should see Monsieur Verlaque's wife, andarrange matters with her, to avoid any possibility of hurting the oldman's feelings. 

The thought of this kindly action afforded Florent great relief, and henow accepted his duties with the object of doing good, thus continuingto play the part which he had been fulfilling all his life. However, hemade the poultry dealer promise that he would not speak of the matterto anyone; and as Gavard also felt a vague fear of Lisa, he kept thesecret, which was really very meritorious in him. 

And now the whole pork shop seemed happy. Handsome Lisa manifested thegreatest friendliness towards her brother-in-law. She took care that hewent to bed early, so as to be able to rise in good time; she kept hisbreakfast hot for him; and she no longer felt ashamed at being seentalking to him on the footway, now that he wore a laced cap. Quenu, quite delighted by all these good signs, sat down to table in theevening between his wife and brother with a lighter heart than ever. They often lingered over dinner till nine o'clock, leaving the shop inAugustine's charge, and indulging in a leisurely digestion interspersedwith gossip about the neighbourhood, and the dogmatic opinions of Lisaon political topics; Florent also had to relate how matters had gone inthe fish market that day. He gradually grew less frigid, and beganto taste the happiness of a well-regulated existence. There was awell-to-do comfort and trimness about the light yellowish dining roomwhich had a softening influence upon him as soon as he crossed itsthreshold. Handsome Lisa's kindly attentions wrapped him, as it were, incotton-wool; and mutual esteem and concord reigned paramount. 

Gavard, however, considered the Quenu-Gradelles' home to be too drowsy. He forgave Lisa her weakness for the Emperor, because, he said, oneought never to discuss politics with women, and beautiful MadameQuenu was, after all, a very worthy person, who managed her businessadmirably. Nevertheless, he much preferred to spend his evenings atMonsieur Lebigre's, where he met a group of friends who shared his ownopinions. Thus when Florent was appointed to the inspectorship of thefish market, Gavard began to lead him astray, taking him off for hours, and prompting him to lead a bachelor's life now that he had obtained aberth. 

Monsieur Lebigre was the proprietor of a very fine establishment, fittedup in the modern luxurious style. Occupying the right-hand corner of theRue Pirouette, and looking on to the Rue Rambuteau, it formed, with itsfour small Norwegian pines in green-painted tubs flanking the doorway, aworthy pendant to the big pork shop of the Quenu-Gradelles. Through theclear glass windows you could see the interior, which was decorated withfestoons of foliage, vine branches, and grapes, painted on a soft greenground. The floor was tiled with large black and white squares. Atthe far end was the yawning cellar entrance, above which rose a spiralstaircase hung with red drapery, and leading to the billiard-room on thefirst floor. The counter or "bar" on the right looked especially rich, and glittered like polished silver. Its zinc-work, hanging with a broadbulging border over the sub-structure of white and red marble, edged itwith a rippling sheet of metal as if it were some high altar ladenwith embroidery. At one end, over a gas stove, stood porcelain pots, decorated with circles of brass, and containing punch and hot wine. Atthe other extremity was a tall and richly sculptured marble fountain, from which a fine stream of water, so steady and continuous that itlooked as though it were motionless, flowed into a basin. In the centre, edged on three sides by the sloping zinc surface of the counter, was asecond basin for rinsing and cooling purposes, where quart bottles ofdraught wine, partially empty, reared their greenish necks. Then on thecounter, to the right and left of this central basin, were batchesof glasses symmetrically arranged: little glasses for brandy, thicktumblers for draught wine, cup glasses for brandied fruits, glasses forabsinthe, glass mugs for beer, and tall goblets, all turned upside downand reflecting the glitter of the counter. On the left, moreover, was ametal urn, serving as a receptacle for gratuities; whilst a similar oneon the right bristled with a fan-like arrangement of coffee spoons. 

Monsieur Lebigre was generally to be found enthroned behind his counterupon a seat covered with buttoned crimson leather. Within easy reach ofhis hand were the liqueurs in cut-glass decanters protruding from thecompartments of a stand. His round back rested against a huge mirrorwhich completely filled the panel behind him; across it ran two glassshelves supporting an array of jars and bottles. Upon one of them theglass jars of preserved fruits, cherries, plums, and peaches, stood outdarkly; while on the other, between symmetrically arranged packets offinger biscuits, were bright flasks of soft green and red and yellowglass, suggesting strange mysterious liqueurs, or floral extracts ofexquisite limpidity. Standing on the glass shelf in the white glow ofthe mirror, these flasks, flashing as if on fire, seemed to be suspendedin the air. 

To give his premises the appearance of a cafe, Monsieur Lebigre hadplaced two small tables of bronzed iron and four chairs against thewall, in front of the counter. A chandelier with five lights andfrosted globes hung down from the ceiling. On the left was a round gilttimepiece, above a _tourniquet_[*] fixed to the wall. Then at the farend came the private "cabinet, " a corner of the shop shut off by apartition glazed with frosted glass of a small square pattern. In thedaytime this little room received a dim light from a window that lookedon to the Rue Pirouette; and in the evening, a gas jet burnt over thetwo tables painted to resemble marble. It was there that Gavard andhis political friends met each evening after dinner. They looked uponthemselves as being quite at home there, and had prevailed on thelandlord to reserve the place for them. When Monsieur Lebigre had closedthe door of the glazed partition, they knew themselves to be so safelyscreened from intrusion that they spoke quite unreservedly of the great"sweep out" which they were fond of discussing. No unprivileged customerwould have dared to enter. 

 [*] This is a kind of dial turning on a pivot, and usually enclosed in a brass frame, from which radiate a few small handles or spokes. Round the face of the dial--usually of paper--are various numerals, and between the face and its glass covering is a small marble or wooden ball. The appliance is used in lieu of dice or coins when two or more customers are "tossing" for drinks. Each in turn sends the dial spinning round, and wins or loses according to the numeral against which the ball rests when the dial stops. As I can find no English name for the appliance, I have thought it best to describe it. --Translator. 

On the first day that Gavard took Florent off he gave him someparticulars of Monsieur Lebigre. He was a good fellow, he said, whosometimes came to drink his coffee with them; and, as he had said oneday that he had fought in '48, no one felt the least constraint in hispresence. He spoke but little, and seemed rather thick-headed. As thegentlemen passed him on their way to the private room they graspedhis hand in silence across the glasses and bottles. By his side onthe crimson leather seat behind the counter there was generally a fairlittle woman, whom he had engaged as counter assistant in additionto the white-aproned waiter who attended to the tables and thebilliard-room. The young woman's name was Rose, and she seemed a verygentle and submissive being. Gavard, with a wink of his eye, toldFlorent that he fancied Lebigre had a weakness for her. It was she, bythe way, who waited upon the friends in the private room, coming andgoing, with her happy, humble air, amidst the stormiest politicaldiscussions. 

Upon the day on which the poultry dealer took Florent to Lebigre's topresent him to his friends, the only person whom the pair found in thelittle room when they entered it was a man of some fifty years of age, of a mild and thoughtful appearance. He wore a rather shabby-looking hatand a long chestnut-coloured overcoat, and sat, with his chin restingon the ivory knob of a thick cane, in front of a glass mug full of beer. His mouth was so completely concealed by a vigorous growth of beard thathis face had a dumb, lipless appearance. 

"How are you, Robine?" exclaimed Gavard. 

Robine silently thrust out his hand, without making any reply, thoughhis eyes softened into a slight smile of welcome. Then he let his chindrop on to the knob of his cane again, and looked at Florent over hisbeer. Florent had made Gavard swear to keep his story a secret for fearof some dangerous indiscretion; and he was not displeased to observe atouch of distrust in the discreet demeanour of the gentleman with theheavy beard. However, he was really mistaken in this, for Robine nevertalked more than he did now. He was always the first to arrive, justas the clock struck eight; and he always sat in the same corner, neverletting go his hold of his cane, and never taking off either his hat orhis overcoat. No one had ever seen him without his hat upon his head. Heremained there listening to the talk of the others till midnight, takingfour hours to empty his mug of beer, and gazing successively at thedifferent speakers as though he heard them with his eyes. When Florentafterwards questioned Gavard about Robine, the poultry dealer spoke ofthe latter as though he held him in high esteem. Robine, he asserted, was an extremely clever and able man, and, though he was unable to sayexactly where he had given proof of his hostility to the establishedorder of things, he declared that he was one of the most dreaded of theGovernment's opponents. He lived in the Rue Saint Denis, in roomsto which no one as a rule could gain admission. The poultry dealer, however, asserted that he himself had once been in them. The wax floors, he said, were protected by strips of green linen; and there were coversover the furniture, and an alabaster timepiece with columns. He hadcaught a glimpse of the back of a lady, who was just disappearingthrough one doorway as he was entering by another, and had taken herto be Madame Robine. She appeared to be an old lady of very genteelappearance, with her hair arranged in corkscrew curls; but of this hecould not be quite certain. No one knew why they had taken up theirabode amidst all the uproar of a business neighbourhood; for the husbanddid nothing at all, spending his days no one knew how and living on noone knew what, though he made his appearance every evening as though hewere tired but delighted with some excursion into the highest regions ofpolitics. 

"Well, have you read the speech from the throne?" asked Gavard, takingup a newspaper that was lying on the table. 

Robine shrugged his shoulders. Just at that moment, however, the doorof the glazed partition clattered noisily, and a hunchback made hisappearance. Florent at once recognised the deformed crier of the fishmarket, though his hands were now washed and he was neatly dressed, withhis neck encircled by a great red muffler, one end of which hung downover his hump like the skirt of a Venetian cloak. 

"Ah, here's Logre!" exclaimed the poultry dealer. "Now we shall hearwhat he thinks about the speech from the throne. "

Logre, however, was apparently furious. To begin with he almost brokethe pegs off in hanging up his hat and muffler. Then he threw himselfviolently into a chair, and brought his fist down on the table, whiletossing away the newspaper. 

"Do you think I read their fearful lies?" he cried. 

Then he gave vent to the anger raging within him. "Did ever anyonehear, " he cried, "of masters making such fools of their people? For twowhole hours I've been waiting for my pay! There were ten of us in theoffice kicking our heels there. Then at last Monsieur Manoury arrivedin a cab. Where he had come from I don't know, and don't care, but I'mquite sure it wasn't any respectable place. Those salesmen are all aparcel of thieves and libertines! And then, too, the hog actually gaveme all my money in small change!"

Robine expressed his sympathy with Logre by the slight movement of hiseyelids. But suddenly the hunchback bethought him of a victim upon whomto pour out his wrath. "Rose! Rose!" he cried, stretching his head outof the little room. 

The young woman quickly responded to the call, trembling all over. 

"Well, " shouted Logre, "what do you stand staring at me like that for?Much good that'll do! You saw me come in, didn't you? Why haven't youbrought me my glass of black coffee, then?"

Gavard ordered two similar glasses, and Rose made all haste to bringwhat was required, while Logre glared sternly at the glasses and littlesugar trays as if studying them. When he had taken a drink he seemed togrow somewhat calmer. 

"But it's Charvet who must be getting bored, " he said presently. "He iswaiting outside on the pavement for Clemence. "

Charvet, however, now made his appearance, followed by Clemence. He wasa tall, scraggy young man, carefully shaved, with a skinny nose andthin lips. He lived in the Rue Vavin, behind the Luxembourg, and calledhimself a professor. In politics he was a disciple of Hebert. [*] Hewore his hair very long, and the collar and lapels of his threadbarefrock-coat were broadly turned back. Affecting the manner and speech ofa member of the National Convention, he would pour out such a flood ofbitter words and make such a haughty display of pedantic learning thathe generally crushed his adversaries. Gavard was afraid of him, thoughhe would not confess it; still, in Charvet's absence he would say thathe really went too far. Robine, for his part, expressed approvalof everything with his eyes. Logre sometimes opposed Charvet on thequestion of salaries; but the other was really the autocrat ofthe coterie, having the greatest fund of information and the mostoverbearing manner. For more than ten years he and Clemence had livedtogether as man and wife, in accordance with a previously arrangedcontract, the terms of which were strictly observed by both parties toit. Florent looked at the young woman with some little surprise, but atlast he recollected where he had previously seen her. This was at thefish auction. She was, indeed, none other than the tall dark femaleclerk whom he had observed writing with outstretched fingers, after themanner of one who had been carefully instructed in the art of holding apen. 

 [*] Hebert, as the reader will remember, was the furious demagogue with the foul tongue and poisoned pen who edited the _Pere Duchesne_ at the time of the first French Revolution. We had a revival of his politics and his journal in Paris during the Commune of 1871. --Translator. 

Rose made her appearance at the heels of the two newcomers. Withoutsaying a word she placed a mug of beer before Charvet and a tray beforeClemence, who in a leisurely way began to compound a glass of "grog, "pouring some hot water over a slice of lemon, which she crushed withher spoon, and glancing carefully at the decanter as she poured outsome rum, so as not to add more of it than a small liqueur glass couldcontain. 

Gavard now presented Florent to the company, but more especially toCharvet. He introduced them to one another as professors, and very ablemen, who would be sure to get on well together. But it was probable thathe had already been guilty of some indiscretion, for all the men at onceshook hands with a tight and somewhat masonic squeeze of each other'sfingers. Charvet, for his part, showed himself almost amiable; andwhether he and the others knew anything of Florent's antecedents, theyat all events indulged in no embarrassing allusions. 

"Did Manoury pay you in small change?" Logre asked Clemence. 

She answered affirmatively, and produced a roll of francs and another oftwo-franc pieces, and unwrapped them. Charvet watched her, and his eyesfollowed the rolls as she replaced them in her pocket, after countingtheir contents and satisfying herself that they were correct. 

"We have our accounts to settle, " he said in a low voice. 

"Yes, we'll settle up to-night, " the young woman replied. "But weare about even, I should think. I've breakfasted with you four times, haven't I? But I lent you a hundred sous last week, you know. "

Florent, surprised at hearing this, discreetly turned his head away. Then Clemence slipped the last roll of silver into her pocket, drank alittle of her grog, and, leaning against the glazed partition, quietlysettled herself down to listen to the men talking politics. Gavard hadtaken up the newspaper again, and, in tones which he strove to rendercomic, was reading out some passages of the speech from the throne whichhad been delivered that morning at the opening of the Chambers. Charvetmade fine sport of the official phraseology; there was not a single lineof it which he did not tear to pieces. One sentence afforded especialamusement to them all. It was this: "We are confident, gentlemen, that, leaning on your lights[*] and the conservative sentiments of thecountry, we shall succeed in increasing the national prosperity day byday. "

 [*] In the sense of illumination of mind. It has been necessary to give a literal translation of this phrase to enable the reader to realise the point of subsequent witticisms in which Clemence and Gavard indulge. --Translator. 

Logre rose up and repeated this sentence, and by speaking through hisnose succeeded fairly well in mimicking the Emperor's drawling voice. 

"It's lovely, that prosperity of his; why, everyone's dying of hunger!"said Charvet. 

"Trade is shocking, " asserted Gavard. 

"And what in the name of goodness is the meaning of anybody 'leaning onlights'?" continued Clemence, who prided herself upon literary culture. 

Robine himself even allowed a faint laugh to escape from the depths ofhis beard. The discussion began to grow warm. The party fell foul ofthe Corps Legislatif, and spoke of it with great severity. Logre did notcease ranting, and Florent found him the same as when he cried the fishat the auctions--protruding his jaws and hurling his words forward witha wave of the arm, whilst retaining the crouching attitude of a snarlingdog. Indeed, he talked politics in just the same furious manner as heoffered a tray full of soles for sale. 

Charvet, on the other hand, became quieter and colder amidst the smokeof the pipes and the fumes of the gas which were now filling the littleden; and his voice assumed a dry incisive tone, sharp like a guillotineblade, while Robine gently wagged his head without once removing hischin from the ivory knob of his cane. However, some remark of Gavard'sled the conversation to the subject of women. 

"Woman, " declared Charvet drily, "is the equal of man; and, that beingso, she ought not to inconvenience him in the management of his life. Marriage is a partnership, in which everything should be halved. Isn'tthat so, Clemence?"

"Clearly so, " replied the young woman, leaning back with her headagainst the wall and gazing into the air. 

However, Florent now saw Lacaille, the costermonger, and Alexandre, theporter, Claude Lantier's friend, come into the little room. In the pastthese two had long remained at the other table in the sanctum; they didnot belong to the same class as the others. By the help of politics, however, their chairs had drawn nearer, and they had ended by formingpart of the circle. Charvet, in whose eyes they represented "thepeople, " did his best to indoctrinate them with his advanced politicaltheories, while Gavard played the part of the shopkeeper free fromall social prejudices by clinking glasses with them. Alexandre wasa cheerful, good-humoured giant, with the manner of a big merry lad. Lacaille, on the other hand, was embittered; his hair was alreadygrizzling; and, bent and wearied by his ceaseless perambulations throughthe streets of Paris, he would at times glance loweringly at the placidfigure of Robine, and his sound boots and heavy coat. 

That evening both Lacaille and Alexandre called for a liqueur glass ofbrandy, and then the conversation was renewed with increased warmth andexcitement, the party being now quite complete. A little later, while the door of the cabinet was left ajar, Florent caught sight ofMademoiselle Saget standing in front of the counter. She had taken abottle from under her apron, and was watching Rose as the latter pouredinto it a large measureful of black-currant syrup and a smaller oneof brandy. Then the bottle disappeared under the apron again, andMademoiselle Saget, with her hands out of sight, remained talking in thebright glow of the counter, face to face with the big mirror, in whichthe flasks and bottles of liqueurs were reflected like rows of Venetianlanterns. In the evening all the metal and glass of the establishmenthelped to illuminate it with wonderful brilliancy. The old maid, standing there in her black skirts, looked almost like some big strangeinsect amidst all the crude brightness. Florent noticed that she wastrying to inveigle Rose into a conversation, and shrewdly suspected thatshe had caught sight of him through the half open doorway. Since hehad been on duty at the markets he had met her at almost every step, loitering in one or another of the covered ways, and generally in thecompany of Madame Lecoeur and La Sarriette. He had noticed also thatthe three women stealthily examined him, and seemed lost in amazementat seeing him installed in the position of inspector. That evening, however, Rose was no doubt loath to enter into conversation with the oldmaid, for the latter at last turned round, apparently with the intentionof approaching Monsieur Lebigre, who was playing piquet with a customerat one of the bronzed tables. Creeping quietly along, MademoiselleSaget had at last managed to install herself beside the partition of thecabinet, when she was observed by Gavard, who detested her. 

"Shut the door, Florent!" he cried unceremoniously. "We can't even be byourselves, it seems!"

When midnight came and Lacaille went away he exchanged a few whisperedwords with Monsieur Lebigre, and as the latter shook hands with him heslipped four five-franc pieces into his palm, without anyone noticingit. "That'll make twenty-two francs that you'll have to pay to-morrow, remember, " he whispered in his ear. "The person who lends the moneywon't do it for less in future. Don't forget, too, that you owe threedays' truck hire. You must pay everything off. "

Then Monsieur Lebigre wished the friends good night. He was very sleepyand should sleep well, he said, with a yawn which revealed his bigteeth, while Rose gazed at him with an air of submissive humility. However, he gave her a push, and told her to go and turn out the gas inthe little room. 

On reaching the pavement, Gavard stumbled and nearly fell. And being ina humorous vein, he thereupon exclaimed: "Confound it all! At any rate, I don't seem to be leaning on anybody's lights. "

This remark seemed to amuse the others, and the party broke up. A littlelater Florent returned to Lebigre's, and indeed he became quite attachedto the "cabinet, " finding a seductive charm in Robine's contemplativesilence, Logre's fiery outbursts, and Charvet's cool venom. When he wenthome, he did not at once retire to bed. He had grown very fond of hisattic, that girlish bedroom, where Augustine had left scraps of ribbons, souvenirs, and other feminine trifles lying about. There still remainedsome hair-pins on the mantelpiece, with gilt cardboard boxes of buttonsand lozenges, cutout pictures, and empty pomade pots that retained anodour of jasmine. Then there were some reels of thread, needles, anda missal lying by the side of a soiled Dream-book in the drawer ofthe rickety deal table. A white summer dress with yellow spotshung forgotten from a nail; while upon the board which served as atoilet-table a big stain behind the water-jug showed where a bottle ofbandoline had been overturned. The little chamber, with its narrow ironbed, its two rush-bottomed chairs, and its faded grey wallpaper, was instinct with innocent simplicity. The plain white curtains, thechildishness suggested by the cardboard boxes and the Dream-book, andthe clumsy coquetry which had stained the walls, all charmed Florent andbrought him back to dreams of youth. He would have preferred not tohave known that plain, wiry-haired Augustine, but to have been able toimagine that he was occupying the room of a sister, some bright sweetgirl of whose budding womanhood every trifle around him spoke. 

Yet another pleasure which he took was to lean out of the garret windowat nighttime. In front of it was a narrow ledge of roof, enclosed byan iron railing, and forming a sort of balcony, on which Augustine hadgrown a pomegranate in a box. Since the nights had turned cold, Florenthad brought the pomegranate indoors and kept it by the foot of his bedtill morning. He would linger for a few minutes by the open window, inhaling deep draughts of the sharp fresh air which was wafted up fromthe Seine, over the housetops of the Rue de Rivoli. Below him the roofsof the markets spread confusedly in a grey expanse, like slumberinglakes on whose surface the furtive reflection of a pane of glass gleamedevery now and then like a silvery ripple. Farther away the roofs of themeat and poultry pavilions lay in deeper gloom, and became mere massesof shadow barring the horizon. Florent delighted in the great stretch ofopen sky in front of him, in that spreading expanse of the markets whichamidst all the narrow city streets brought him a dim vision of somestrip of sea coast, of the still grey waters of a bay scarce quiveringfrom the roll of the distant billows. He used to lose himself in dreamsas he stood there; each night he conjured up the vision of some freshcoast line. To return in mind to the eight years of despair which he hadspent away from France rendered him both very sad and very happy. Thenat last, shivering all over, he would close the window. Often, as hestood in front of the fireplace taking off his collar, the photograph ofAuguste and Augustine would fill him with disquietude. They seemed to bewatching him as they stood there, hand in hand, smiling faintly. 

Florent's first few weeks at the fish market were very painful to him. The Mehudins treated him with open hostility, which infected the wholemarket with a spirit of opposition. The beautiful Norman intended torevenge herself on the handsome Lisa, and the latter's cousin seemed avictim ready to hand. 

The Mehudins came from Rouen. Louise's mother still related how she hadfirst arrived in Paris with a basket of eels. She had ever afterwardsremained in the fish trade. She had married a man employed in the Octroiservice, who had died leaving her with two little girls. It was she whoby her full figure and glowing freshness had won for herself in earlierdays the nickname of "the beautiful Norman, " which her eldest daughterhad inherited. Now five and sixty years of age, Madame Mehudin hadbecome flabby and shapeless, and the damp air of the fish market hadrendered her voice rough and hoarse, and given a bluish tinge to herskin. Sedentary life had made her extremely bulky, and her head wasthrown backwards by the exuberance of her bosom. She had never beenwilling to renounce the fashions of her younger days, but still worethe flowered gown, the yellow kerchief, and turban-like head-gear ofthe classic fish-wife, besides retaining the latter's loud voice andrapidity of gesture as she stood with her hands on her hips, shoutingout the whole abusive vocabulary of her calling. 

She looked back regretfully to the old Marche des Innocents, which thenew central markets had supplanted. She would talk of the ancient rightsof the market "ladies, " and mingle stories of fisticuffs exchanged withthe police with reminiscences of the visits she had paid the Court inthe time of Charles X and Louis Philippe, dressed in silk, and carryinga bouquet of flowers in her hand. Old Mother Mehudin, as she was nowgenerally called, had for a long time been the banner-bearer of theSisterhood of the Virgin at St. Leu. She would relate that in theprocessions in the church there she had worn a dress and cap of tulletrimmed with satin ribbons, whilst holding aloft in her puffy fingersthe gilded staff of the richly-fringed silk standard on which the figureof the Holy Mother was embroidered. 

According to the gossip of the neighbourhood, the old woman had made afairly substantial fortune, though the only signs of it were the massivegold ornaments with which she loaded her neck and arms and bosom onimportant occasions. Her two daughters got on badly together as theygrew up. The younger one, Claire, an idle, fair-complexioned girl, complained of the ill-treatment which she received from her sisterLouise, protesting, in her languid voice, that she could never submit tobe the other's servant. As they would certainly have ended by comingto blows, their mother separated them. She gave her stall in the fishmarket to Louise, while Claire, whom the smell of the skate and theherrings affected in the lungs, installed herself among the fresh waterfish. And from that time the old mother, although she pretended tohave retired from business altogether, would flit from one stall to theother, still interfering in the selling of the fish, and causing herdaughters continual annoyance by the foul insolence with which she wouldat times speak to customers. 

Claire was a fantastical creature, very gentle in her manner, and yetcontinually at loggerheads with others. People said that she invariablyfollowed her own whimsical inclinations. In spite of her dreamy, girlishface she was imbued with a nature of silent firmness, a spirit ofindependence which prompted her to live apart; she never took thingsas other people did, but would one day evince perfect fairness, and thenext day arrant injustice. She would sometimes throw the market intoconfusion by suddenly increasing or lowering the prices at her stall, without anyone being able to guess her reason for doing so. Sheherself would refuse to explain her motive. By the time she reached herthirtieth year, her delicate physique and fine skin, which the waterof the tanks seemed to keep continually fresh and soft, her small, faintly-marked face and lissome limbs would probably become heavy, coarse, and flabby, till she would look like some faded saint that hadstepped from a stained-glass window into the degrading sphere of themarkets. At twenty-two, however, Claire, in the midst of her carp andeels, was, to use Claude Lantier's expression, a Murillo. A Murillo, that is, whose hair was often in disorder, who wore heavy shoes andclumsily cut dresses, which left her without any figure. But she wasfree from all coquetry, and she assumed an air of scornful contempt whenLouise, displaying her bows and ribbons, chaffed her about her clumsilyknotted neckerchiefs. Moreover, she was virtuous; it was said that theson of a rich shopkeeper in the neighbourhood had gone abroad in despairat having failed to induce her to listen to his suit. 

Louise, the beautiful Norman, was of a different nature. She had beenengaged to be married to a clerk in the corn market; but a sack of flourfalling upon the young man had broken his back and killed him. Not verylong afterwards Louise had given birth to a boy. In the Mehudins' circleof acquaintance she was looked upon as a widow; and the old fish-wifein conversation would occasionally refer to the time when her son-in-lawwas alive. 

The Mehudins were a power in the markets. When Monsieur Verlaque hadfinished instructing Florent in his new duties, he advised him toconciliate certain of the stall-holders, if he wished his life to beendurable; and he even carried his sympathy so far as to put him inpossession of the little secrets of the office, such as the variouslittle breaches of rule that it was necessary to wink at, and thoseat which he would have to feign stern displeasure; and also thecircumstances under which he might accept a small present. A marketinspector is at once a constable and a magistrate; he has to maintainproper order and cleanliness, and settle in a conciliatory spiritall disputes between buyers and sellers. Florent, who was of a weakdisposition put on an artificial sternness when he was obliged toexercise his authority, and generally over-acted his part. Moreover, hisgloomy, pariah-like face and bitterness of spirit, the result of longsuffering, were against him. 

The beautiful Norman's idea was to involve him in some quarrel or other. She had sworn that he would not keep his berth a fortnight. "That fatLisa's much mistaken, " said she one morning on meeting Madame Lecoeur, "if she thinks that she's going to put people over us. We don't wantsuch ugly wretches here. That sweetheart of hers is a perfect fright!"

After the auctions, when Florent commenced his round of inspection, strolling slowly through the dripping alleys, he could plainly see thebeautiful Norman watching him with an impudent smile on her face. Herstall, which was in the second row on the left, near the fresh waterfish department faced the Rue Rambuteau. She would turn round, however, and never take her eyes off her victim whilst making fun of him withher neighbours. And when he passed in front of her, slowly examining theslabs, she feigned hilarious merriment, slapped her fish with her hand, and turned her jets of water on at full stream, flooding the pathway. Nevertheless Florent remained perfectly calm. 

At last, one morning as was bound to happen, war broke out. As Florentreached La Normande's stall that day an unbearable stench assailedhis nostrils. On the marble slab, in addition to part of a magnificentsalmon, showing its soft roseate flesh, there lay some turbots of creamywhiteness, a few conger-eels pierced with black pins to mark theirdivisions, several pairs of soles, and some bass and red mullet--infact, quite a display of fresh fish. But in the midst of it, amongstall these fish whose eyes still gleamed and whose gills were of a brightcrimson, there lay a huge skate of a ruddy tinge, splotched with darkstains--superb, indeed, with all its strange colourings. Unfortunately, it was rotten; its tail was falling off and the ribs of its fins werebreaking through the skin. 

"You must throw that skate away, " said Florent as he came up. 

The beautiful Norman broke into a slight laugh. Florent raised his eyesand saw her standing before him, with her back against the bronze lamppost which lighted the stalls in her division. She had mounted upona box to keep her feet out of the damp, and appeared very tall as heglanced at her. She looked also handsomer than usual, with herhair arranged in little curls, her sly face slightly bent, her lipscompressed, and her hands showing somewhat too rosily against her bigwhite apron. Florent had never before seen her decked with so muchjewellery. She had long pendants in her ears, a chain round her neck, abrooch in her dress body, and quite a collection of rings on two fingersof her left hand and one of her right. 

As she still continued to look slyly at Florent, without making anyreply, the latter continued: "Do you hear? You must remove that skate. "

He had not yet noticed the presence of old Madame Mehudin, who sat allof a heap on a chair in a corner. She now got up, however, and, with herfists resting on the marble slap, insolently exclaimed: "Dear me! Andwhy is she to throw her skate away? You won't pay her for it, I'll bet!"

Florent immediately understood the position. The women at the otherstalls began to titter, and he felt that he was surrounded by covertrebellion, which a word might cause to blaze forth. He thereforerestrained himself, and in person drew the refuse-pail from under thestall and dropped the skate into it. Old Madame Mehudin had alreadystuck her hands on her hips, while the beautiful Norman, who had notspoken a word, burst into another malicious laugh as Florent strodesternly away amidst a chorus of jeers, which he pretended not to hear. 

Each day now some new trick was played upon him, and he was obliged towalk through the market alleys as warily as though he were in a hostilecountry. He was splashed with water from the sponges employed tocleanse the slabs; he stumbled and almost fell over slippery refuseintentionally spread in his way; and even the porters contrived to runtheir baskets against the nape of his neck. One day, moreover, when twoof the fish-wives were quarrelling, and he hastened up to prevent themcoming to blows, he was obliged to duck in order to escape being slappedon either cheek by a shower of little dabs which passed over his head. There was a general outburst of laughter on this occasion, and Florentalways believed that the two fish-wives were in league with theMehudins. However, his old-time experiences as a teacher had endowedhim with angelic patience, and he was able to maintain a magisterialcoolness of manner even when anger was hotly rising within him, andhis whole being quivered with a sense of humiliation. Still, the youngscamps of the Rue de l'Estrapade had never manifested the savageryof these fish-wives, the cruel tenacity of these huge females, whosemassive figures heaved and shook with a giant-like joy whenever he fellinto any trap. They stared him out of countenance with their red faces;and in the coarse tones of their voices and the impudent gesture oftheir hands he could read volumes of filthy abuse levelled at himself. Gavard would have been quite in his element amidst all these petticoats, and would have freely cuffed them all round; but Florent, who hadalways been afraid of women, gradually felt overwhelmed as by a sortof nightmare in which giant women, buxom beyond all imagination, danced threateningly around him, shouting at him in hoarse voices andbrandishing bare arms, as massive as any prize-fighter's. 

Amongst this hoard of females, however, Florent had one friend. Claireunhesitatingly declared that the new inspector was a very good fellow. When he passed in front of her, pursued by the coarse abuse of theothers, she gave him a pleasant smile, sitting nonchalantly behind herstall, with unruly errant locks of pale hair straying over her neck andher brow, and the bodice of her dress pinned all askew. He also oftensaw her dipping her hands into her tanks, transferring the fish fromone compartment to another, and amusing herself by turning on the brasstaps, shaped like little dolphins with open mouths, from which the waterpoured in streamlets. Amidst the rustling sound of the water she hadsome of the quivering grace of a girl who has just been bathing and hashurriedly slipped on her clothes. 

One morning she was particularly amiable. She called the inspector toher to show him a huge eel which had been the wonder of the marketwhen exhibited at the auction. She opened the grating, which she hadpreviously closed over the basin in whose depths the eel seemed to belying sound asleep. 

"Wait a moment, " she said, "and I'll show it to you. "

Then she gently slipped her bare arm into the water; it was not a veryplump arm, and its veins showed softly blue beneath its satiny skin. Assoon as the eel felt her touch, it rapidly twisted round, and seemed tofill the narrow trough with its glistening greenish coils. And directlyit had settled down to rest again Claire once more stirred it with herfingertips. 

"It is an enormous creature, " Florent felt bound to say. "I have rarelyseen such a fine one. "

Claire thereupon confessed to him that she had at first been frightenedof eels; but now she had learned how to tighten her grip so that theycould not slip away. From another compartment she took a smaller one, which began to wriggle both with head and tail, as she held it aboutthe middle in her closed fist. This made her laugh. She let it go, thenseized another and another, scouring the basin and stirring up the wholeheap of snaky-looking creatures with her slim fingers. 

Afterwards she began to speak of the slackness of trade. The hawkers onthe foot-pavement of the covered way did the regular saleswomen a greatdeal of injury, she said. Meantime her bare arm, which she had notwiped, was glistening and dripping with water. Big drops trickled fromeach finger. 

"Oh, " she exclaimed suddenly, "I must show you my carp, too!"

She now removed another grating, and, using both hands, lifted out alarge carp, which began to flap its tail and gasp. It was too big to beheld conveniently, so she sought another one. This was smaller, and shecould hold it with one hand, but the latter was forced slightly openby the panting of the sides each time that the fish gasped. To amuseherself it occurred to Claire to pop the tip of her thumb into thecarp's mouth whilst it was dilated. "It won't bite, " said she with hergentle laugh; "it's not spiteful. No more are the crawfishes; I'm notthe least afraid of them. "

She plunged her arm into the water again, and from a compartment fullof a confused crawling mass brought up a crawfish that had caught herlittle finger in its claws. She gave the creature a shake, but it nodoubt gripped her too tightly, for she turned very red, and snapped offits claw with a quick, angry gesture, though still continuing to smile. 

"By the way, " she continued quickly, to conceal her emotion, "I wouldn'ttrust myself with a pike; he'd cut off my fingers like a knife. "

She thereupon showed him some big pike arranged in order of size uponclean scoured shelves, beside some bronze-hued tench and little heaps ofgudgeon. Her hands were now quite slimy with handling the carp, and asshe stood there in the dampness rising from the tanks, she held themoutstretched over the dripping fish on the stall. She seemed envelopedby an odour of spawn, that heavy scent which rises from among the reedsand water-lilies when the fish, languid in the sunlight, discharge theireggs. Then she wiped her hands on her apron, still smiling the placidsmile of a girl who knew nothing of passion in that quivering atmosphereof the frigid loves of the river. 

The kindliness which Claire showed to Florent was but a slightconsolation to him. By stopping to talk to the girl he only drew uponhimself still coarser jeers from the other stallkeepers. Claire shruggedher shoulders, and said that her mother was an old jade, and her sistera worthless creature. The injustice of the market folk towards the newinspector filled her with indignation. The war between them, however, grew more bitter every day. Florent had serious thoughts of resigninghis post; indeed, he would not have retained it for another twenty-fourhours if he had not been afraid that Lisa might imagine him to be acoward. He was frightened of what she might say and what she mightthink. She was naturally well aware of the contest which was going onbetween the fish-wives and their inspector; for the whole echoing marketresounded with it, and the entire neighbourhood discussed each freshincident with endless comments. 

"Ah, well, " Lisa would often say in the evening, after dinner, "I'd soonbring them to reason if I had anything to do with them! Why, they are alot of dirty jades that I wouldn't touch with the tip of my finger! ThatNormande is the lowest of the low! I'd soon crush her, that I would! Youshould really use your authority, Florent. You are wrong to behave asyou do. Put your foot down, and they'll all come to their senses veryquickly, you'll see. "

A terrible climax was presently reached. One morning the servant ofMadame Taboureau, the baker, came to the market to buy a brill; andthe beautiful Norman, having noticed her lingering near her stall forseveral minutes, began to make overtures to her in a coaxing way: "Comeand see me; I'll suit you, " she said. "Would you like a pair of soles, or a fine turbot?"

Then as the servant at last came up, and sniffed at a brill with thatdissatisfied pout which buyers assume in the hope of getting what theywant at a lower price, La Normande continued:

"Just feel the weight of that, now, " and so saying she laid the brill, wrapped in a sheet of thick yellow paper, on the woman's open palm. 

The servant, a mournful little woman from Auvergne, felt the weight ofthe brill, and examined its gills, still pouting, and saying not a word. 

"And how much do you want for it?" she asked presently, in a reluctanttone. 

"Fifteen francs, " replied La Normande. 

At this the servant hastily laid the brill on the stall again, andseemed anxious to hurry away, but the other detained her. "Wait amoment, " said she. "What do you offer?"

"No, no, I can't take it. It is much too dear. "

"Come, now, make me an offer. "

"Well, will you take eight francs?"

Old Madame Mehudin, who was there, suddenly seemed to wake up, andbroke out into a contemptuous laugh. Did people think that she and herdaughter stole the fish they sold? "Eight francs for a brill that size!"she exclaimed. "You'll be wanting one for nothing next, to use as acooling plaster!"

Meantime La Normande turned her head away, as though greatly offended. However, the servant came back twice and offered nine francs; andfinally she increased her bid to ten. 

"All right, come on, give me your money!" cried the fish-girl, seeingthat the woman was now really going away. 

The servant took her stand in front of the stall and entered into afriendly gossip with old Madame Mehudin. Madame Taboureau, she said, wasso exacting! She had got some people coming to dinner that evening, somecousins from Blois a notary and his wife. Madame Taboureau's family, she added, was a very respectable one, and she herself, although only abaker, had received an excellent education. 

"You'll clean it nicely for me, won't you?" added the woman, pausing inher chatter. 

With a jerk of her finger La Normande had removed the fish's entrailsand tossed them into a pail. Then she slipped a corner of her apronunder its gills to wipe away a few grains of sand. "There, my dear, " shesaid, putting the fish into the servant's basket, "you'll come back tothank me. "

Certainly the servant did come back a quarter of an hour afterwards, but it was with a flushed, red face. She had been crying, and her littlebody was trembling all over with anger. Tossing the brill on to themarble slab, she pointed to a broad gash in its belly that reached thebone. Then a flood of broken words burst from her throat, which wasstill contracted by sobbing: "Madame Taboureau won't have it. She saysshe couldn't put it on her table. She told me, too, that I was an idiot, and let myself be cheated by anyone. You can see for yourself that thefish is spoilt. I never thought of turning it round; I quite trustedyou. Give me my ten francs back. "

"You should look at what you buy, " the handsome Norman calmly observed. 

And then, as the servant was just raising her voice again, old MadameMehudin got up. "Just you shut up!" she cried. "We're not going to takeback a fish that's been knocking about in other people's houses. How dowe know that you didn't let it fall and damage it yourself?"

"I! I damage it!" The little servant was choking with indignation. "Ah!you're a couple of thieves!" she cried, sobbing bitterly. "Yes, a coupleof thieves! Madame Taboureau herself told me so!"

Matters then became uproarious. Boiling over with rage and brandishingtheir fists, both mother and daughter fairly exploded; while the poorlittle servant, quite bewildered by their voices, the one hoarse andthe other shrill, which belaboured her with insults as though they werebattledores and she a shuttlecock, sobbed on more bitterly than ever. 

"Be off with you! Your Madame Taboureau would like to be half as freshas that fish is! She'd like us to sew it up for her, no doubt!"

"A whole fish for ten francs! What'll she want next!"

Then came coarse words and foul accusations. Had the servant beenthe most worthless of her sex she could not have been more bitterlyupbraided. 

Florent, whom the market keeper had gone to fetch, made his appearancewhen the quarrel was at its hottest. The whole pavilion seemed to bein a state of insurrection. The fish-wives, who manifest the keenestjealousy of each other when the sale of a penny herring is in question, display a united front when a quarrel arises with a buyer. They sang thepopular old ditty, "The baker's wife has heaps of crowns, which cost herprecious little"; they stamped their feet, and goaded the Mehudinsas though the latter were dogs which they were urging on to bite anddevour. And there were even some, having stalls at the other end ofthe alley, who rushed up wildly, as though they meant to spring at thechignon of the poor little woman, she meantime being quite submerged bythe flood of insulting abuse poured upon her. 

"Return mademoiselle her ten francs, " said Florent sternly, when he hadlearned what had taken place. 

But old Madame Mehudin had her blood up. "As for you, my little man, "quoth she, "go to blazes! Here, that's how I'll return the ten francs!"

As she spoke, she flung the brill with all her force at the head ofMadame Taboureau's servant, who received it full in the face. The bloodspurted from her nose, and the brill, after adhering for a moment toher cheeks, fell to the ground and burst with a flop like that of a wetclout. This brutal act threw Florent into a fury. The beautiful Normanfelt frightened and recoiled, as he cried out: "I suspend you for aweek, and I will have your licence withdrawn. You hear me?"

Then, as the other fish-wives were still jeering behind him, he turnedround with such a threatening air that they quailed like wild beastsmastered by the tamer, and tried to assume an expression of innocence. When the Mehudins had returned the ten francs, Florent peremptorilyordered them to cease selling at once. The old woman was choking withrage, while the daughter kept silent, but turned very white. She, thebeautiful Norman, to be driven out of her stall!

Claire said in her quiet voice that it served her mother and sisterright, a remark which nearly resulted in the two girls tearing eachother's hair out that evening when they returned home to the RuePirouette. However, when the Mehudins came back to the market at theweek's end, they remained very quiet, reserved, and curt of speech, though full of a cold-blooded wrath. Moreover, they found the pavilionquite calm and restored to order again. From that day forward thebeautiful Norman must have harboured the thought of some terriblevengeance. She felt that she really had Lisa to thank for what hadhappened. She had met her, the day after the battle, carrying her headso high, that she had sworn she would make her pay dearly for her glanceof triumph. She held interminable confabulations with Madame Saget, Madame Lecoeur, and La Sarriette, in quiet corners of the market;however, all their chatter about the shameless conduct which theyslanderously ascribed to Lisa and her cousin, and about the hairs whichthey declared were found in Quenu's chitterlings, brought La Normandelittle consolation. She was trying to think of some very malicious planof vengeance, which would strike her rival to the heart. 

Her child was growing up in the fish market in all freedom and neglect. When but three years old the youngster had been brought there, and dayby day remained squatting on some rag amidst the fish. He would fallasleep beside the big tunnies as though he were one of them, and awakeamong the mackerel and whiting. The little rascal smelt of fish asstrongly as though he were some big fish's offspring. For a long timehis favourite pastime, whenever his mother's back was turned, was tobuild walls and houses of herrings; and he would also play at soldierson the marble slab, arranging the red gurnets in confronting lines, pushing them against each other, and battering their heads, whileimitating the sound of drum and trumpet with his lips; after which hewould throw them all into a heap again, and exclaim that they were dead. When he grew older he would prowl about his aunt Claire's stall to gethold of the bladders of the carp and pike which she gutted. He placedthem on the ground and made them burst, an amusement which affordedhim vast delight. When he was seven he rushed about the alleys, crawledunder the stalls, ferreted amongst the zinc bound fish boxes, and becamethe spoiled pet of all the women. Whenever they showed him somethingfresh which pleased him, he would clasp his hands and exclaim inecstasy, "Oh, isn't it stunning!" _Muche_ was the exact word which heused; _muche_ being the equivalent of "stunning" in the lingo of themarkets; and he used the expression so often that it clung to him as anickname. He became known all over the place as "Muche. " It was Muchehere, there and everywhere; no one called him anything else. He was tobe met with in every nook; in out-of-the-way corners of the offices inthe auction pavilion; among the piles of oyster baskets, and betwixt thebuckets where the refuse was thrown. With a pinky fairness of skin, hewas like a young barbel frisking and gliding about in deep water. Hewas as fond of running, streaming water as any young fry. He wasever dabbling in the pools in the alleys. He wetted himself with thedrippings from the tables, and when no one was looking often slylyturned on the taps, rejoicing in the bursting gush of water. But it wasespecially beside the fountains near the cellar steps that his motherwent to seek him in the evening, and she would bring him thence with hishands quite blue, and his shoes, and even his pockets, full of water. 

At seven years old Muche was as pretty as an angel, and as coarse in hismanners as any carter. He had curly chestnut hair, beautiful eyes, and an innocent-looking mouth which gave vent to language that even agendarme would have hesitated to use. Brought up amidst all the ribaldryand profanity of the markets, he had the whole vocabulary of the placeon the tip of his tongue. With his hands on his hips he often mimickedGrandmother Mehudin in her anger, and at these times the coarsest andvilest expressions would stream from his lips in a voice of crystallinepurity that might have belonged to some little chorister chanting the_Ave Maria_. He would even try to assume a hoarse roughness of tone, seek to degrade and taint that exquisite freshness of childhood whichmade him resemble a _bambino_ on the Madonna's knees. The fish-wiveslaughed at him till they cried; and he, encouraged, could scarcely say acouple of words without rapping out an oath. But in spite of all this hestill remained charming, understanding nothing of the dirt amidst whichhe lived, kept in vigorous health by the fresh breezes and sharp odoursof the fish market, and reciting his vocabulary of coarse indecencieswith as pure a face as though he were saying his prayers. 

The winter was approaching, and Muche seemed very sensitive to the cold. As soon as the chilly weather set in he manifested a strong predilectionfor the inspector's office. This was situated in the left-hand corner ofthe pavilion, on the side of the Rue Rambuteau. The furniture consistedof a table, a stack of drawers, an easy-chair, two other chairs, and astove. It was this stove which attracted Muche. Florent quite worshippedchildren, and when he saw the little fellow, with his dripping legs, gazing wistfully through the window, he made him come inside. His firstconversation with the lad caused him profound amazement. Muche sat downin front of the stove, and in his quiet voice exclaimed: "I'll justtoast my toes, do you see? It's d----d cold this morning. " Then he brokeinto a rippling laugh, and added: "Aunt Claire looks awfully blue thismorning. Is it true, sir, that you are sweet on her?"

Amazed though he was, Florent felt quite interested in the odd littlefellow. The handsome Norman retained her surly bearing, but allowedher son to frequent the inspector's office without a word of objection. Florent consequently concluded that he had the mother's permission toreceive the boy, and every afternoon he asked him in; by degrees formingthe idea of turning him into a steady, respectable young fellow. Hecould almost fancy that his brother Quenu had grown little again, andthat they were both in the big room in the Rue Royer-Collard once more. The life which his self-sacrificing nature pictured to him as perfecthappiness was a life spent with some young being who would never growup, whom he could go on teaching for ever, and in whose innocence hemight still love his fellow man. On the third day of his acquaintancewith Muche he brought an alphabet to the office, and the lad delightedhim by the intelligence he manifested. He learned his letters with allthe sharp precocity which marks the Parisian street arab, and derivedgreat amusement from the woodcuts illustrating the alphabet. 

He found opportunities, too, for plenty of fine fun in the littleoffice, where the stove still remained the chief attraction and a sourceof endless enjoyment. At first he cooked potatoes and chestnuts at it, but presently these seemed insipid, and he thereupon stole some gudgeonsfrom his aunt Claire, roasted them one by one, suspended from a stringin front of the glowing fire, and then devoured them with gusto, thoughhe had no bread. One day he even brought a carp with him; but it wasimpossible to roast it sufficiently, and it made such a smell in theoffice that both window and door had to be thrown open. Sometimes, whenthe odour of all these culinary operations became too strong, Florentwould throw the fish into the street, but as a rule he only laughed. Bythe end of a couple of months Muche was able to read fairly well, andhis copy-books did him credit. 

Meantime, every evening the lad wearied his mother with his talk abouthis good friend Florent. His good friend Florent had drawn him picturesof trees and of men in huts, said he. His good friend Florent waved hisarm and said that men would be far better if they all knew how to read. And at last La Normande heard so much about Florent that she seemedto be almost intimate with this man against whom she harboured so muchrancour. One day she shut Muche up at home to prevent him from going tothe inspector's, but he cried so bitterly that she gave him his libertyagain on the following morning. There was very little determinationabout her, in spite of her broad shoulders and bold looks. When the ladtold her how nice and warm he had been in the office, and came back toher with his clothes quite dry, she felt a sort of vague gratitude, apleasure in knowing that he had found a shelter-place where he could sitwith his feet in front of a fire. Later on, she was quite touched whenhe read her some words from a scrap of soiled newspaper wrapped rounda slice of conger-eel. By degrees, indeed, she began to think, thoughwithout admitting it, that Florent could not really be a bad sort offellow. She felt respect for his knowledge, mingled with an increasingcuriosity to see more of him and learn something of his life. Then, allat once, she found an excuse for gratifying this inquisitiveness. Shewould use it as a means of vengeance. It would be fine fun to makefriends with Florent and embroil him with that great fat Lisa. 

"Does your good friend Florent ever speak to you about me?" she askedMuche one morning as she was dressing him. 

"Oh, no, " replied the boy. "We enjoy ourselves. "

"Well, you can tell him that I've quite forgiven him, and that I'm muchobliged to him for having taught you to read. "

Thenceforward the child was entrusted with some message every day. Hewent backwards and forwards from his mother to the inspector, and fromthe inspector to his mother, charged with kindly words and questions andanswers, which he repeated mechanically without knowing their meaning. He might, indeed, have been safely trusted with the most compromisingcommunications. However, the beautiful Norman felt afraid of appearingtimid, and so one day she herself went to the inspector's office and satdown on the second chair, while Muche was having his writing lesson. She proved very suave and complimentary, and Florent was by far the moreembarrassed of the two. They only spoke of the lad; and when Florentexpressed a fear that he might not be able to continue the lessonsin the office, La Normande invited him to come to their home in theevening. She spoke also of payment; but at this he blushed, and saidthat he certainly would not come if any mention were made of money. Thereupon the young woman determined in her own mind that she wouldrecompense him with presents of choice fish. 

Peace was thus made between them; the beautiful Norman even took Florentunder her protection. Apart from this, however, the whole market wasbecoming reconciled to the new inspector, the fish-wives arriving at theconclusion that he was really a better fellow than Monsieur Verlaque, notwithstanding his strange eyes. It was only old Madame Mehudin whostill shrugged her shoulders, full of rancour as she was against the"long lanky-guts, " as she contemptuously called him. And then, too, astrange thing happened. One morning, when Florent stopped with a smilebefore Claire's tanks, the girl dropped an eel which she was holding andangrily turned her back upon him, her cheeks quite swollen and reddenedby temper. The inspector was so much astonished that he spoke to LaNormande about it. 

"Oh, never mind her, " said the young woman; "she's cracked. She makesa point of always differing from everybody else. She only behaved likethat to annoy me. "

La Normande was now triumphant--she strutted about her stall, and becamemore coquettish than ever, arranging her hair in the most elaboratemanner. Meeting the handsome Lisa one day she returned her look ofscorn, and even burst out laughing in her face. The certainty she feltof driving the mistress of the pork shop to despair by winning hercousin from her endowed her with a gay, sonorous laugh, which rolled upfrom her chest and rippled her white plump neck. She now had the whimof dressing Muche very showily in a little Highland costume and velvetbonnet. The lad had never previously worn anything but a tatteredblouse. It unfortunately happened, however, that just about this time heagain became very fond of the water. The ice had melted and the weatherwas mild, so he gave his Scotch jacket a bath, turning the fountain tapon at full flow and letting the water pour down his arm from his elbowto his hand. He called this "playing at gutters. " Then a little later, when his mother came up and caught him, she found him with two otheryoung scamps watching a couple of little fishes swimming about in hisvelvet cap, which he had filled with water. 

For nearly eight months Florent lived in the markets, feeling continualdrowsiness. After his seven years of suffering he had lighted upon suchcalm quietude, such unbroken regularity of life, that he was scarcelyconscious of existing. He gave himself up to this jog-trot peacefulnesswith a dazed sort of feeling, continually experiencing surprise atfinding himself each morning in the same armchair in the little office. This office with its bare hut-like appearance had a charm for him. Hehere found a quiet and secluded refuge amidst that ceaseless roar of themarkets which made him dream of some surging sea spreading aroundhim, and isolating him from the world. Gradually, however, a vaguenervousness began to prey upon him; he became discontented, accusedhimself of faults which he could not define, and began to rebel againstthe emptiness which he experienced more and more acutely in mind andbody. Then, too, the evil smells of the fish market brought him nausea. By degrees he became unhinged, his vague boredom developing intorestless, nervous excitement. 

All his days were precisely alike, spent among the same sounds and thesame odours. In the mornings the noisy buzzing of the auction salesresounded in his ears like a distant echo of bells; and sometimes, whenthere was a delay in the arrival of the fish, the auctions continuedtill very late. Upon these occasions he remained in the pavilion tillnoon, disturbed at every moment by quarrels and disputes, which heendeavoured to settle with scrupulous justice. Hours elapsed before hecould get free of some miserable matter or other which was exciting themarket. He paced up and down amidst the crush and uproar of the sales, slowly perambulating the alleys and occasionally stopping in front ofthe stalls which fringed the Rue Rambuteau, and where lay rosy heaps ofprawns and baskets of boiled lobsters with tails tied backwards, whilelive ones were gradually dying as they sprawled over the marbleslabs. And then he would watch gentlemen in silk hats and black glovesbargaining with the fish-wives, and finally going off with boiledlobsters wrapped in paper in the pockets of their frock-coats. [*]Farther away, at the temporary stalls, where the commoner sorts of fishwere sold, he would recognise the bareheaded women of the neighbourhood, who always came at the same hour to make their purchases. 

 [*] The little fish-basket for the use of customers, so familiar in London, is not known in Paris. --Translator. 

At times he took an interest in some well-dressed lady trailing her lacepetticoats over the damp stones, and escorted by a servant in a whiteapron; and he would follow her at a little distance on noticing how thefish-wives shrugged their shoulders at sight of her air of disgust. Themedley of hampers and baskets and bags, the crowd of skirts flittingalong the damp alleys, occupied his attention until lunchtime. He took adelight in the dripping water and the fresh breeze as he passed from theacrid smell of the shell-fish to the pungent odour of the salted fish. It was always with the latter that he brought his official round ofinspection to a close. The cases of red herrings, the Nantes sardines ontheir layers of leaves, and the rolled cod, exposed for sale underthe eyes of stout, faded fish-wives, brought him thoughts of a voyagenecessitating a vast supply of salted provisions. 

In the afternoon the markets became quieter, grew drowsy; and Florentthen shut himself up in his office, made out his reports, and enjoyedthe happiest hours of his day. If he happened to go out and crossthe fish market, he found it almost deserted. There was no longer thecrushing and pushing and uproar of ten o'clock in the morning. Thefish-wives, seated behind their stalls, leant back knitting, while afew belated purchasers prowled about casting sidelong glances at theremaining fish, with the thoughtful eyes and compressed lips of womenclosely calculating the price of their dinner. At last the twilightfell, there was a noise of boxes being moved, and the fish was laid forthe night on beds of ice; and then, after witnessing the closing of thegates, Florent went off, seemingly carrying the fish market along withhim in his clothes and his beard and his hair. 

For the first few months this penetrating odour caused him no greatdiscomfort. The winter was a severe one, the frosts converted the alleysinto slippery mirrors, and the fountains and marble slabs were fringedwith a lacework of ice. In the mornings it was necessary to place littlebraziers underneath the taps before a drop of water could be drawn. Thefrozen fish had twisted tails; and, dull of hue and hard to the touchlike unpolished metal, gave out a ringing sound akin to that of palecast-iron when it snaps. Until February the pavilion presented a mostmournful appearance: it was deserted, and wrapped in a bristling shroudof ice. But with March came a thaw, with mild weather and fogs and rain. Then the fish became soft again, and unpleasant odours mingled with thesmell of mud wafted from the neighbouring streets. These odours were asyet vague, tempered by the moisture which clung to the ground. But inthe blazing June afternoons a reeking stench arose, and the atmospherebecame heavy with a pestilential haze. The upper windows were thenopened, and huge blinds of grey canvas were drawn beneath the burningsky. Nevertheless, a fiery rain seemed to be pouring down, heating themarket as though it were a big stove, and there was not a breath of airto waft away the noxious emanations from the fish. A visible steam wentup from the stalls. 

The masses of food amongst which Florent lived now began to cause himthe greatest discomfort. The disgust with which the pork shop had filledhim came back in a still more intolerable fashion. He almost sickenedas he passed these masses of fish, which, despite all the water lavishedupon them, turned bad under a sudden whiff of hot air. Even when he shuthimself up in his office his discomfort continued, for the abominableodour forced its way through the chinks in the woodwork of the windowand door. When the sky was grey and leaden, the little room remainedquite dark; and then the day was like a long twilight in the depths ofsome fetid march. He was often attacked by fits of nervous excitement, and felt a craving desire to walk; and he would then descend into thecellars by the broad staircase opening in the middle of the pavilion. Inthe pent-up air down below, in the dim light of the occasional gas jets, he once more found the refreshing coolness diffused by pure cold water. He would stand in front of the big tank where the reserve stock of livefish was kept, and listen to the ceaseless murmur of the four streamletsof water falling from the four corners of the central urn, and thenspreading into a broad stream and gliding beneath the locked gratings ofthe basins with a gentle and continuous flow. This subterranean spring, this stream murmuring in the gloom, had a tranquillising effect uponhim. Of an evening, too, he delighted in the fine sunsets which threwthe delicate lacework of the market buildings blackly against the redglow of the heavens. The dancing dust of the last sun rays streamedthrough every opening, through every chink of the Venetian shutters, and the whole was like some luminous transparency on which the slendershafts of the columns, the elegant curves of the girders, and thegeometrical tracery of the roofs were minutely outlined. Florentfeasted his eyes on this mighty diagram washed in with Indian ink onphosphorescent vellum, and his mind reverted to his old fancy of acolossal machine with wheels and levers and beams espied in the crimsonglow of the fires blazing beneath its boilers. At each consecutive hourof the day the changing play of the light--from the bluish haze of earlymorning and the black shadows of noon to the flaring of the sinking sunand the paling of its fires in the ashy grey of the twilight--revealedthe markets under a new aspect; but on the flaming evenings, when thefoul smells arose and forced their way across the broad yellow beamslike hot puffs of steam, Florent again experienced discomfort, andhis dream changed, and he imagined himself in some gigantic knacker'sboiling-house where the fat of a whole people was being melted down. 

The coarseness of the market people, whose words and gestures seemed tobe infected with the evil smell of the place, also made him suffer. Hewas very tolerant, and showed no mock modesty; still, these impudentwomen often embarrassed him. Madame Francois, whom he had again met, was the only one with whom he felt at ease. She showed such pleasureon learning he had found a berth and was quite comfortable and out ofworry, as she put it, that he was quite touched. The laughter of Lisa, the handsome Norman, and the others disquieted him; but of MadameFrancois he would willingly have made a confidante. She never laughedmockingly at him; when she did laugh, it was like a woman rejoicing atanother's happiness. She was a brave, plucky creature, too; hers was ahard business in winter, during the frosts, and the rainy weather wasstill more trying. On some mornings Florent saw her arrive in a pouringdeluge which had been slowly, coldly falling ever since the previousnight. Between Nanterre and Paris the wheels of her cart had sunk up tothe axles in mud, and Balthazar was caked with mire to his belly. Hismistress would pity him and sympathise with him as she wiped him downwith some old aprons. 

"The poor creatures are very sensitive, " said she; "a mere nothing givesthem a cold. Ah, my poor old Balthazar! I really thought that we hadtumbled into the Seine as we crossed the Neuilly bridge, the rain camedown in such a deluge!"

While Balthazar was housed in the inn stable his mistress remained inthe pouring rain to sell her vegetables. The footway was transformedinto a lake of liquid mud. The cabbages, carrots, and turnips werepelted by the grey water, quite drowned by the muddy torrent that rushedalong the pavement. There was no longer any of that glorious greeneryso apparent on bright mornings. The market gardeners, cowering in theirheavy cloaks beneath the downpour, swore at the municipality which, after due inquiry, had declared that rain was in no way injurious tovegetables, and that there was accordingly no necessity to erect anyshelters. 

Those rainy mornings greatly worried Florent, who thought about MadameFrancois. He always managed to slip away and get a word with her. Buthe never found her at all low-spirited. She shook herself like a poodle, saying that she was quite used to such weather, and was not made ofsugar, to melt away beneath a few drops of rain. However, he made herseek refuge for a few minutes in one of the covered ways, and frequentlyeven took her to Monsieur Lebigre's, where they had some hot winetogether. While she with her peaceful face beamed on him in allfriendliness, he felt quite delighted with the healthy odour of thefields which she brought into the midst of the foul market atmosphere. She exhaled a scent of earth, hay, fresh air, and open skies. 

"You must come to Nanterre, my lad, " she said to him, "and look at mykitchen garden. I have put borders of thyme everywhere. How bad yourvillainous Paris does smell!"

Then she went off, dripping. Florent, on his side, felt quitere-invigorated when he parted from her. He tried, too the effect of workupon the nervous depression from which he suffered. He was a man of avery methodical temperament, and sometimes carried out his plans for theallotment of his time with a strictness that bordered on mania. He shuthimself up two evenings a week in order to write an exhaustive work onCayenne. His modest bedroom was excellently adapted, he thought, tocalm his mind and incline him to work. He lighted his fire, saw thatthe pomegranate at the foot of the bed was looking all right, and thenseated himself at the little table, and remained working till midnight. He had pushed the missal and Dream-book back in the drawer, which wasnow filling with notes, memoranda, manuscripts of all kinds. The workon Cayenne made but slow progress, however, as it was constantly beinginterrupted by other projects, plans for enormous undertakings whichhe sketched out in a few words. He successively drafted an outline ofa complete reform of the administrative system of the markets, a schemefor transforming the city dues, levied on produce as it entered Paris, into taxes levied upon the sales, a new system of victualling the poorerneighbourhoods, and, lastly, a somewhat vague socialist enactment forthe storing in common warehouses of all the provisions brought to themarkets, and the ensuring of a minimum daily supply to each household inParis. As he sat there, with his head bent over his table, and his mindabsorbed in thoughts of all these weighty matters, his gloomy figurecast a great black shadow on the soft peacefulness of the garret. Sometimes a chaffinch which he had picked up one snowy day in the marketwould mistake the lamplight for the day, and break the silence, whichonly the scratching of Florent's pen on his paper disturbed, by a cry. 

Florent was fated to revert to politics. He had suffered too muchthrough them not to make them the dearest occupation of his life. Underother conditions he might have become a good provincial schoolmaster, happy in the peaceful life of some little town. But he had been treatedas though he were a wolf, and felt as though he had been marked outby exile for some great combative task. His nervous discomfort was theoutcome of his long reveries at Cayenne, the brooding bitterness he hadfelt at his unmerited sufferings, and the vows he had secretly sworn toavenge humanity and justice--the former scourged with a whip, and thelatter trodden under foot. Those colossal markets and their teemingodoriferous masses of food had hastened the crisis. To Florent theyappeared symbolical of some glutted, digesting beast, of Paris, wallowing in its fat and silently upholding the Empire. He seemed to beencircled by swelling forms and sleek, fat faces, which ever andever protested against his own martyrlike scragginess and sallow, discontented visage. To him the markets were like the stomach of theshopkeeping classes, the stomach of all the folks of average rectitudepuffing itself out, rejoicing, glistening in the sunshine, and declaringthat everything was for the best, since peaceable people had neverbefore grown so beautifully fat. As these thoughts passed through hismind Florent clenched his fists, and felt ready for a struggle, moreirritated now by the thought of his exile than he had been when he firstreturned to France. Hatred resumed entire possession of him. He oftenlet his pen drop and became absorbed in dreams. The dying fire cast abright glow upon his face; the lamp burned smokily, and the chaffinchfell asleep again on one leg, with its head tucked under its wing. 

Sometimes Auguste, on coming upstairs at eleven o'clock and seeing thelight shining under the door, would knock, before going to bed. Florentadmitted him with some impatience. The assistant sat down in front ofthe fire, speaking but little, and never saying why he had come. Hiseyes would all the time remain fixed upon the photograph of himself andAugustine in their Sunday finery. Florent came to the conclusion thatthe young man took a pleasure in visiting the room for the simple reasonthat it had been occupied by his sweetheart; and one evening he askedhim with a smile if he had guessed rightly. 

"Well, perhaps it is so, " replied Auguste, very much surprised at thediscovery which he himself now made of the reasons which actuated him. "I'd really never thought of that before. I came to see you withoutknowing why. But if I were to tell Augustine, how she'd laugh!"

Whenever he showed himself at all loquacious, his one eternal theme wasthe pork shop which he was going to set up with Augustine at Plaisance. He seemed so perfectly assured of arranging his life in accordancewith his desires, that Florent grew to feel a sort of respect for him, mingled with irritation. After all, the young fellow was very resoluteand energetic, in spite of his seeming stupidity. He made straightfor the goal he had in view, and would doubtless reach it in perfectassurance and happiness. On the evenings of these visits from theapprentice, Florent could not settle down to work again; he went off tobed in a discontented mood, and did not recover his equilibrium tillthe thought passed through his mind, "Why, that Auguste is a perfectanimal!"

Every month he went to Clamart to see Monsieur Verlaque. These visitswere almost a delight to him. The poor man still lingered on, to thegreat astonishment of Gavard, who had not expected him to last for morethan six months. Every time that Florent went to see him Verlaque woulddeclare that he was feeling better, and was most anxious to resume hiswork again. But the days glided by, and he had serious relapses. Florentwould sit by his bedside, chat about the fish market, and do what hecould to enliven him. He deposited on the pedestal table the fiftyfrancs which he surrendered to him each month; and the old inspector, though the payment had been agreed upon, invariably protested, andseemed disinclined to take the money. Then they would begin to speak ofsomething else, and the coins remained lying on the table. When Florentwent away, Madame Verlaque always accompanied him to the street door. She was a gentle little woman, of a very tearful disposition. Her onetopic of conversation was the expense necessitated by her husband'sillness, the costliness of chicken broth, butcher's meat, Bordeauxwine, medicine, and doctors' fees. Her doleful conversation greatlyembarrassed Florent, and on the first few occasions he did notunderstand the drift of it. But at last, as the poor woman seemed alwaysin a state of tears, and kept saying how happy and comfortable they hadbeen when they had enjoyed the full salary of eighteen hundred francsa year, he timidly offered to make her a private allowance, to bekept secret from her husband. This offer, however, she declined, inconsistently declaring that the fifty francs were sufficient. But inthe course of the month she frequently wrote to Florent, callinghim their saviour. Her handwriting was small and fine, yet she wouldcontrive to fill three pages of letter paper with humble, flowingsentences entreating the loan of ten francs; and this she at last did soregularly that wellnigh the whole of Florent's hundred and fifty francsfound its way to the Verlaques. The husband was probably unaware ofit; however, the wife gratefully kissed Florent's hands. This charityafforded him the greatest pleasure, and he concealed it as though itwere some forbidden selfish indulgence. 

"That rascal Verlaque is making a fool of you, " Gavard would sometimessay. "He's coddling himself up finely now that you are doing the workand paying him an income. "

At last one day Florent replied:

"Oh, we've arranged matters together. I'm only to give him twenty-fivefrancs a month in future. "

As a matter of fact, Florent had but little need of money. The Quenuscontinued to provide him with board and lodging; and the few francswhich he kept by him sufficed to pay for the refreshment he took in theevening at Monsieur Lebigre's. His life had gradually assumed all theregularity of clockwork. He worked in his bedroom, continued to teachlittle Muche twice a week from eight to nine o'clock, devoted an eveningto Lisa, to avoid offending her, and spent the rest of his spare time inthe little "cabinet" with Gavard and his friends. 

When he went to the Mehudins' there was a touch of tutorial stiffnessin his gentle demeanour. He was pleased with the old house in theRue Pirouette. On the ground floor he passed through the faint odourspervading the premises of the purveyor of cooked vegetables. Big pans ofboiled spinach and sorrel stood cooling in the little backyard. Then heascended the winding staircase, greasy and dark, with worn and bulgingsteps which sloped in a disquieting manner. The Mehudins occupied thewhole of the second floor. Even when they had attained to comfortablecircumstances the old mother had always declined to move into freshquarters, despite all the supplications of her daughters, who dreamt ofliving in a new house in a fine broad street. But on this point the oldwoman was not to be moved; she had lived there, she said, and meant todie there. She contented herself, moreover, with a dark little closet, leaving the largest rooms to Claire and La Normande. The later, withthe authority of the elder born, had taken possession of the room thatoverlooked the street; it was the best and largest of the suite. Clairewas so much annoyed at her sister's action in the matter that sherefused to occupy the adjoining room, whose window overlooked the yard, and obstinately insisted on sleeping on the other side of the landing, in a sort of garret, which she did not even have whitewashed. However, she had her own key, and so was independent; directly anything happenedto displease her she locked herself up in her own quarters. 

As a rule, when Florent arrived the Mehudins were just finishingtheir dinner. Muche sprang to his neck, and for a moment the young manremained seated with the lad chattering between his legs. Then, whenthe oilcloth cover had been wiped, the lesson began on a corner ofthe table. The beautiful Norman gave Florent a cordial welcome. Shegenerally began to knit or mend some linen, and would draw her chair upto the table and work by the light of the same lamp as the others; andshe frequently put down her needle to listen to the lesson, which filledher with surprise. She soon began to feel warm esteem for this man whoseemed so clever, who, in speaking to the little one, showed himself asgentle as a woman, and manifested angelic patience in again and againrepeating the same instructions. She no longer considered him at allplain, but even felt somewhat jealous of beautiful Lisa. And then shedrew her chair still nearer, and gazed at Florent with an embarrassingsmile. 

"But you are jogging my elbow, mother, and I can't write, " Mucheexclaimed angrily. "There! see what a blot you've made me make! Getfurther away, do!"

La Normande now gradually began to say a good many unpleasant thingsabout beautiful Lisa. She pretended that the latter concealed her realage, that she laced her stays so tightly that she nearly suffocatedherself, and that if she came down of a morning looking so trim andneat, without a single hair out of place, it must be because she lookedperfectly hideous when in dishabille. Then La Normande would raise herarm a little, and say that there was no need for her to wear any staysto cramp and deform her figure. At these times the lessons would beinterrupted, and Muche gazed with interest at his mother as she raisedher arms. Florent listened to her, and even laughed, thinking to himselfthat women were very odd creatures. The rivalry between the beautifulNorman and beautiful Lisa amused him. 

Muche, however, managed to finish his page of writing. Florent, who wasa good penman, set him copies in large hand and round hand on slips ofpaper. The words he chose were very long and took up the whole line, andhe evinced a marked partiality for such expressions as "tyrannically, ""liberticide, " "unconstitutional, " and "revolutionary. " At times alsohe made the boy copy such sentences as these: "The day of justice willsurely come"; "The suffering of the just man is the condemnation of theoppressor"; "When the hour strikes, the guilty shall fall. " In preparingthese copy slips he was, indeed, influenced by the ideas which hauntedhis brain; he would for the time become quite oblivious of Muche, thebeautiful Norman, and all his surroundings. The lad would have copiedRousseau's "Contrat Social" had he been told to do so; and thus, drawing each letter in turn, he filled page after page with lines of"tyrannically" and "unconstitutional. "

As long as the tutor remained there, old Madame Mehudin kept fidgetinground the table, muttering to herself. She still harboured terriblerancour against Florent; and asserted that it was folly to make the ladwork in that way at a time when children should be in bed. She wouldcertainly have turned that "spindle-shanks" out of the house, if thebeautiful Norman, after a stormy scene, had not bluntly told her thatshe would go to live elsewhere if she were not allowed to receive whomshe chose. However, the pair began quarrelling again on the subjectevery evening. 

"You may say what you like, " exclaimed the old woman; "but he's gottreacherous eyes. And, besides, I'm always suspicious of those skinnypeople. A skinny man's capable of anything. I've never come across adecent one yet. That one's as flat as a board. And he's got such an uglyface, too! Though I'm sixty-five and more, I'd precious soon send himabout his business if he came a-courting of me!"

She said this because she had a shrewd idea of how matters were likelyto turn out. And then she went on to speak in laudatory terms ofMonsieur Lebigre, who, indeed, paid the greatest attention to thebeautiful Norman. Apart from the handsome dowry which he imagined shewould bring with her, he considered that she would be a magnificentacquisition to his counter. The old woman never missed an opportunity tosound his praises; there was no lankiness, at any rate, about him, saidshe; he was stout and strong, with a pair of calves which would havedone honour even to one of the Emperor's footmen. 

However, La Normande shrugged her shoulders and snappishly replied:"What do I care whether he's stout or not? I don't want him or anybody. And besides, I shall do as I please. "

Then, if the old woman became too pointed in her remarks, the otheradded: "It's no business of yours, and besides, it isn't true. Holdyour tongue and don't worry me. " And thereupon she would go off intoher room, banging the door behind her. Florent, however, had a yetmore bitter enemy than Madame Mehudin in the house. As soon as ever hearrived there, Claire would get up without a word, take a candle, and gooff to her own room on the other side of the landing; and she could beheard locking her door in a burst of sullen anger. One evening whenher sister asked the tutor to dinner, she prepared her own food onthe landing, and ate it in her bedroom; and now and again she secludedherself so closely that nothing was seen of her for a week at a time. She usually retained her appearance of soft lissomness, but periodicallyhad a fit of iron rigidity, when her eyes blazed from under her paletawny locks like those of a distrustful wild animal. Old Mother Mehudin, fancying that she might relieve herself in her company, only made herfurious by speaking to her of Florent; and thereupon the old woman, inher exasperation, told everyone that she would have gone off and lefther daughters to themselves had she not been afraid of their devouringeach other if they remained alone together. 

As Florent went away one evening, he passed in front of Claire's door, which was standing wide open. He saw the girl look at him, and turn veryred. Her hostile demeanour annoyed him; and it was only the timiditywhich he felt in the presence of women that restrained him from seekingan explanation of her conduct. On this particular evening he wouldcertainly have addressed her if he had not detected Mademoiselle Saget'spale face peering over the balustrade of the upper landing. So he wenthis way, but had not taken a dozen steps before Claire's door was closedbehind him with such violence as to shake the whole staircase. It wasafter this that Mademoiselle Saget, eager to propagate slander, wentabout repeating everywhere that Madame Quenu's cousin was "carrying on"most dreadfully with both the Mehudin girls. 

Florent, however, gave very little thought to these two handsome youngwomen. His usual manner towards them was that of a man who has butlittle success with the sex. Certainly he had come to entertain afeeling of genuine friendship for La Normande, who really displayed avery good heart when her impetuous temper did not run away with her. Buthe never went any further than this. Moreover, the queenly proportionsof her robust figure filled him with a kind of alarm; and of an evening, whenever she drew her chair up to the lamp and bent forward as thoughto look at Muche's copy-book, he drew in his own sharp bony elbows andshrunken shoulders as if realising what a pitiful specimen of humanityhe was by the side of that buxom, hardy creature so full of the life ofripe womanhood. Moreover, there was another reason why he recoiled fromher. The smells of the markets distressed him; on finishing his dutiesof an evening he would have liked to escape from the fishy odour amidstwhich his days were spent; but, alas! beautiful though La Normande was, this odour seemed to adhere to her silky skin. She had tried everysort of aromatic oil, and bathed freely; but as soon as the fresheninginfluence of the bath was over her blood again impregnated her skin withthe faint odour of salmon, the musky perfume of smelts, and the pungentscent of herrings and skate. Her skirts, too, as she moved about, exhaled these fishy smells, and she walked as though amidst anatmosphere redolent of slimy seaweed. With her tall, goddess-likefigure, her purity of form, and transparency of complexion she resembledsome lovely antique marble that had rolled about in the depths of thesea and had been brought to land in some fisherman's net. 

Mademoiselle Saget, however, swore by all her gods that Florent was theyoung woman's lover. According to her account, indeed, he courtedboth the sisters. She had quarrelled with the beautiful Norman abouta ten-sou dab; and ever since this falling-out she had manifested warmfriendship for handsome Lisa. By this means she hoped the sooner toarrive at a solution of what she called the Quenus' mystery. Florentstill continued to elude her curiosity, and she told her friends thatshe felt like a body without a soul, though she was careful not toreveal what was troubling her so grievously. A young girl infatuatedwith a hopeless passion could not have been in more distress than thisterrible old woman at finding herself unable to solve the mystery of theQuenus' cousin. She was constantly playing the spy on Florent, followinghim about, and watching him, in a burning rage at her failure to satisfyher rampant curiosity. Now that he had begun to visit the Mehudins shewas for ever haunting the stairs and landings. She soon discovered thathandsome Lisa was much annoyed at Florent visiting "those women, " andaccordingly she called at the pork shop every morning with a budget ofinformation. She went in shrivelled and shrunk by the frosty air, and, resting her hands on the heating-pan to warm them, remained in front ofthe counter buying nothing, but repeating in her shrill voice: "Hewas with them again yesterday; he seems to live there now. I heard LaNormande call him 'my dear' on the staircase. "

She indulged like this in all sorts of lies in order to remain in theshop and continue warming her hands for a little longer. On the morningafter the evening when she had heard Claire close her door behindFlorent, she spun out her story for a good half hour, inventing allsorts of mendacious and abominable particulars. 

Lisa, who had assumed a look of contemptuous scorn, said but little, simply encouraging Mademoiselle Saget's gossip by her silence. At last, however, she interrupted her. "No, no, " she said; "I can't really listento all that. Is it possible that there can be such women?"

Thereupon Mademoiselle Saget told Lisa that unfortunately all women werenot so well conducted as herself. And then she pretended to find allsorts of excuses for Florent: it wasn't his fault; he was no doubt abachelor; these women had very likely inveigled him in their snares. In this way she hinted questions without openly asking them. But Lisapreserved silence with respect to her cousin, merely shrugging hershoulders and compressing her lips. When Mademoiselle Saget at last wentaway, the mistress of the shop glanced with disgust at the cover of theheating-pan, the glistening metal of which had been tarnished by theimpression of the old woman's little hands. 

"Augustine, " she cried, "bring a duster, and wipe the cover of theheating-pan. It's quite filthy!"

The rivalry between the beautiful Lisa and the beautiful Norman nowbecame formidable. The beautiful Norman flattered herself that she hadcarried a lover off from her enemy; and the beautiful Lisa was indignantwith the hussy who, by luring the sly cousin to her home, would surelyend by compromising them all. The natural temperament of each womanmanifested itself in the hostilities which ensued. The one remainedcalm and scornful, like a lady who holds up her skirts to keep them frombeing soiled by the mud; while the other, much less subject to shame, displayed insolent gaiety and swaggered along the footways with the airsof a duellist seeking a cause of quarrel. Each of their skirmishes wouldbe the talk of the fish market for the whole day. When the beautifulNorman saw the beautiful Lisa standing at the door of her shop, shewould go out of her way in order to pass her, and brush against her withher apron; and then the angry glances of the two rivals crossed likerapiers, with the rapid flash and thrust of pointed steel. When thebeautiful Lisa, on the other hand, went to the fish market, she assumedan expression of disgust on approaching the beautiful Norman's stall. And then she proceeded to purchase some big fish--a turbot or asalmon--of a neighbouring dealer, spreading her money out on the marbleslab as she did so, for she had noticed that this seemed to have apainful effect upon the "hussy, " who ceased laughing at the sight. Tohear the two rivals speak, anyone would have supposed that the fishand pork they sold were quite unfit for food. However, their principalengagements took place when the beautiful Norman was seated at her stalland the beautiful Lisa at her counter, and they glowered blackly at eachother across the Rue Rambuteau. They sat in state in their big whiteaprons, decked out with showy toilets and jewels, and the battle betweenthem would commence early in the morning. 

"Hallo, the fat woman's got up!" the beautiful Norman would exclaim. "She ties herself up as tightly as her sausages! Ah, she's gotSaturday's collar on again, and she's still wearing that poplin dress!"

At the same moment, on the opposite side of the street, beautiful Lisawas saying to her shop girl: "Just look at that creature staring at usover yonder, Augustine! She's getting quite deformed by the life sheleads. Do you see her earrings? She's wearing those big drops of hers, isn't she? It makes one feel ashamed to see a girl like that withbrilliants. "

All complaisance, Augustine echoed her mistress's words. 

When either of them was able to display a new ornament it was likescoring a victory--the other one almost choked with spleen. Every daythey would scrutinise and count each other's customers, and manifest thegreatest annoyance if they thought that the "big thing over the way" wasdoing the better business. Then they spied out what each had for lunch. Each knew what the other ate, and even watched to see how she digestedit. In the afternoon, while the one sat amidst her cooked meats and theother amidst her fish, they posed and gave themselves airs, as thoughthey were queens of beauty. It was then that the victory of the day wasdecided. The beautiful Norman embroidered, selecting the most delicateand difficult work, and this aroused Lisa's exasperation. 

"Ah!" she said, speaking of her rival, "she had far better mend herboy's stockings. He's running about quite barefooted. Just look at thatfine lady, with her red hands stinking of fish!"

For her part, Lisa usually knitted. 

"She's still at that same sock, " La Normande would say, as she watchedher. "She eats so much that she goes to sleep over her work. I pity herpoor husband if he's waiting for those socks to keep his feet warm!"

They would sit glowering at each other with this implacable hostilityuntil evening, taking note of every customer, and displaying such keeneyesight that they detected the smallest details of each other's dressand person when other women declared that they could see nothing atsuch a distance. Mademoiselle Saget expressed the highest admiration forMadame Quenu's wonderful sight when she one day detected a scratch onthe fish-girl's left cheek. With eyes like those, said the old maid, one might even see through a door. However, the victory often remainedundecided when night fell; sometimes one or other of the rivals wastemporarily crushed, but she took her revenge on the morrow. Severalpeople of the neighbourhood actually laid wagers on these contests, somebacking the beautiful Lisa and others the beautiful Norman. 

At last they ended by forbidding their children to speak to one another. Pauline and Muche had formerly been good friends, notwithstanding thegirl's stiff petticoats and lady-like demeanour, and the lad's tatteredappearance, coarse language, and rough manners. They had at times playedtogether at horses on the broad footway in front of the fish market, Pauline always being the horse and Muche the driver. One day, however, when the boy came in all simplicity to seek his playmate, Lisa turnedhim out of the house, declaring that he was a dirty little street arab. 

"One can't tell what may happen with children who have been soshockingly brought up, " she observed. 

"Yes, indeed; you are quite right, " replied Mademoiselle Saget, whohappened to be present. 

When Muche, who was barely seven years old, came in tears to his motherto tell her of what had happened, La Normande broke out into a terriblepassion. At the first moment she felt a strong inclination to rushover to the Quenu-Gradelles' and smash everything in their shop. Buteventually she contented herself with giving Muche a whipping. 

"If ever I catch you going there again, " she cried, boiling over withanger, "you'll get it hot from me, I can tell you!"

Florent, however, was the real victim of the two women. It was he, intruth, who had set them by the ears, and it was on his account thatthey were fighting each other. Ever since he had appeared upon the scenethings had been going from bad to worse. He compromised and disturbedand embittered all these people, who had previously lived in such sleekpeace and harmony. The beautiful Norman felt inclined to claw him whenhe lingered too long with the Quenus, and it was chiefly from an impulseof hostile rivalry that she desired to win him to herself. The beautifulLisa, on her side, maintained a cold judicial bearing, and althoughextremely annoyed, forced herself to silence whenever she saw Florentleaving the pork shop to go to the Rue Pirouette. 

Still, there was now much less cordiality than formerly round theQuenus' dinner-table in the evening. The clean, prim dining-room seemedto have assumed an aspect of chilling severity. Florent divined areproach, a sort of condemnation in the bright oak, the polished lamp, and the new matting. He scarcely dared to eat for fear of letting crumbsfall on the floor or soiling his plate. There was a guileless simplicityabout him which prevented him from seeing how the land really lay. He still praised Lisa's affectionate kindliness on all sides; andoutwardly, indeed, she did continue to treat him with all gentleness. 

"It is very strange, " she said to him one day with a smile, as thoughshe were joking; "although you don't eat at all badly now, you don't getfatter. Your food doesn't seem to do you any good. "

At this Quenu laughed aloud, and tapping his brother's stomach, protested that the whole contents of the pork shop might pass through itwithout depositing a layer of fat as thick as a two-sou piece. However, Lisa's insistence on this particular subject was instinct with that samesuspicious dislike for fleshless men which Madame Mehudin manifestedmore outspokenly; and behind it all there was likewise a veiled allusionto the disorderly life which she imagined Florent was leading. Shenever, however, spoke a word to him about La Normande. Quenu hadattempted a joke on the subject one evening, but Lisa had received it soicily that the good man had not ventured to refer to the matter again. They would remain seated at table for a few moments after dessert, andFlorent, who had noticed his sister-in-law's vexation if ever he wentoff too soon, tried to find something to talk about. On these occasionsLisa would be near him, and certainly he did not suffer in her presencefrom that fishy smell which assailed him when he was in the company ofLa Normande. The mistress of the pork shop, on the contrary, exhaled anodour of fat and rich meats. Moreover, not a thrill of life stirred hertight-fitting bodice; she was all massiveness and all sedateness. Gavard once said to Florent in confidence that Madame Quenu was no doubthandsome, but that for his part he did not admire such armour-platedwomen. 

Lisa avoided talking to Quenu of Florent. She habitually prided herselfon her patience, and considered, too, that it would not be proper tocause any unpleasantness between the brothers, unless some peremptoryreason for her interference should arise. As she said, she could put upwith a good deal, but, of course, she must not be tried too far. She hadnow reached the period of courteous tolerance, wearing an expressionlessface, affecting perfect indifference and strict politeness, andcarefully avoiding everything which might seem to hint that Florent wasboarding and lodging with them without their receiving the slightestpayment from him. Not, indeed, that she would have accepted any paymentfrom him, she was above all that; still he might, at any rate, shethought, have lunched away from the house. 

"We never seem to be alone now, " she remarked to Quenu one day. "Ifthere is anything we want to say to one another we have to wait till wego upstairs at night. "

And then, one night when they were in bed, she said to him: "Yourbrother earns a hundred and fifty francs a month, doesn't he? Well, it'sstrange he can't put a trifle by to buy himself some more linen. I'vebeen obliged to give him three more of your old shirts. "

"Oh, that doesn't matter, " Quenu replied. "Florent's not hard to please;and we must let him keep his money for himself. "

"Oh, yes, of course, " said Lisa, without pressing the matter further. "Ididn't mention it for that reason. Whether he spends his money well orill, it isn't our business. "

In her own mind she felt quite sure that he wasted his salary at theMehudins'. 

Only on one occasion did she break through her habitual calmness ofdemeanour, the quiet reserve which was the result of both naturaltemperament and preconceived design. The beautiful Norman had madeFlorent a present of a magnificent salmon. Feeling very much embarrassedwith the fish, and not daring to refuse it, he brought it to Lisa. 

"You can make a pasty of it, " he said ingenuously. 

Lisa looked at him sternly with whitening lips. Then, striving torestrain her anger, she exclaimed: "Do you think that we are short offood? Thank God, we've got quite enough to eat here! Take it back!"

"Well, at any rate, cook it for me, " replied Florent, amazed by heranger; "I'll eat it myself. "

At this she burst out furiously. 

"The house isn't an inn! Tell those who gave you the fish to cook it foryou! I won't have my pans tainted and infected! Take it back again! Doyou hear?"

If he had not gone away with it, she would certainly have seized it andhurled it into the street. Florent took it to Monsieur Lebigre's, whereRose was ordered to make a pasty of it; and one evening the pasty waseaten in the little "cabinet, " Gavard, who was present, "standing"some oysters for the occasion. Florent now gradually came more and morefrequently to Monsieur Lebigre's, till at last he was constantly to bemet in the little private room. He there found an atmosphere of heatedexcitement in which his political feverishness could pulsate freely. At times, now, when he shut himself up in his garret to work, the quietsimplicity of the little room irritated him, his theoretical searchfor liberty proved quite insufficient, and it became necessary that heshould go downstairs, sally out, and seek satisfaction in the trenchantaxioms of Charvet and the wild outbursts of Logre. During the first fewevenings the clamour and chatter had made him feel ill at ease; he wasthen quite conscious of their utter emptiness, but he felt a need ofdrowning his thoughts, of goading himself on to some extreme resolutionwhich might calm his mental disquietude. The atmosphere of the littleroom, reeking with the odour of spirits and warm with tobacco smoke, intoxicated him and filled him with peculiar beatitude, prompting a kindof self-surrender which made him willing to acquiesce in the wildestideas. He grew attached to those he met there, and looked for themand awaited their coming with a pleasure which increased with habit. Robine's mild, bearded countenance, Clemence's serious profile, Charvet's fleshless pallor, Logre's hump, Gavard, Alexandre, andLacaille, all entered into his life, and assumed a larger and largerplace in it. He took quite a sensual enjoyment in these meetings. When his fingers closed round the brass knob on the door of the littlecabinet it seemed to be animated with life, to warm him, and turn of itsown accord. Had he grasped the supple wrist of a woman he could not havefelt a more thrilling emotion. 

To tell the truth, very serious things took place in that little room. One evening, Logre, after indulging in wilder outbursts than usual, banged his fist upon the table, declaring that if they were men theywould make a clean sweep of the Government. And he added that it wasnecessary they should come to an understanding without further delay, ifthey desired to be fully prepared when the time for action arrived. Thenthey all bent their heads together, discussed the matter in lower tones, and decided to form a little "group, " which should be ready for whatevermight happen. From that day forward Gavard flattered himself that hewas a member of a secret society, and was engaged in a conspiracy. Thelittle circle received no new members, but Logre promised to put it intocommunication with other associations with which he was acquainted; andthen, as soon as they held all Paris in their grasp, they would riseand make the Tuileries' people dance. A series of endless discussions, renewed during several months, then began--discussions on questions oforganisation, on questions of ways and means, on questions of strategy, and of the form of the future Government. As soon as Rose had broughtClemence's grog, Charvet's and Robine's beer, the coffee for Logre, Gavard, and Florent, and the liqueur glasses of brandy for Lacailleand Alexandre, the door of the cabinet was carefully fastened, and thedebate began. 

Charvet and Florent were naturally those whose utterances were listenedto with the greatest attention. Gavard had not been able to keep histongue from wagging, but had gradually related the whole story ofCayenne; and Florent found himself surrounded by a halo of martyrdom. His words were received as though they were the expression ofindisputable dogmas. One evening, however, the poultry dealer, vexedat hearing his friend, who happened to be absent, attacked, exclaimed:"Don't say anything against Florent; he's been to Cayenne!"

Charvet was rather annoyed by the advantage which this circumstancegave to Florent. "Cayenne, Cayenne, " he muttered between his teeth. "Ah, well, they were not so badly off there, after all. "

Then he attempted to prove that exile was a mere nothing, and that realsuffering consisted in remaining in one's oppressed country, gagged inpresence of triumphant despotism. And besides, he urged, it wasn't hisfault that he hadn't been arrested on the Second of December. Next, however, he hinted that those who had allowed themselves to be capturedwere imbeciles. His secret jealousy made him a systematic opponent ofFlorent; and the general discussions always ended in a duel betweenthese two, who, while their companions listened in silence, would speakagainst one another for hours at a time, without either of them allowingthat he was beaten. 

One of the favourite subjects of discussion was that of thereorganisation of the country which would have to be effected on themorrow of their victory. 

"We are the conquerors, are we not?" began Gavard. 

And, triumph being taken for granted, everyone offered his opinion. There were two rival parties. Charvet, who was a disciple of Hebert, wassupported by Logre and Robine; while Florent, who was always absorbedin humanitarian dreams, and called himself a Socialist, was backed byAlexandre and Lacaille. As for Gavard, he felt no repugnance for violentaction; but, as he was often twitted about his fortune with no end ofsarcastic witticisms which annoyed him, he declared himself a Communist. 

"We must make a clean sweep of everything, " Charvet would curtly say, asthough he were delivering a blow with a cleaver. "The trunk is rotten, and it must come down. "

"Yes! yes!" cried Logre, standing up that he might look taller, and making the partition shake with the excited motion of his hump. "Everything will be levelled to the ground; take my word for it. Afterthat we shall see what to do. "

Robine signified approval by wagging his beard. His silence seemedinstinct with delight whenever violent revolutionary propositions weremade. His eyes assumed a soft ecstatic expression at the mention of theguillotine. He half closed them, as though he could see the machine, andwas filled with pleasant emotion at the sight; and next he would gentlyrub his chin against the knob of his stick, with a subdued purr ofsatisfaction. 

"All the same, " said Florent, in whose voice a vague touch of sadnesslingered, "if you cut down the tree it will be necessary to preservesome seed. For my part, I think that the tree ought to be preserved, sothat we may graft new life on it. The political revolution, you know, has already taken place; to-day we have got to think of the labourer, the working man. Our movement must be altogether a social one. I defyyou to reject the claims of the people. They are weary of waiting, andare determined to have their share of happiness. "

These words aroused Alexandre's enthusiasm. With a beaming, radiant facehe declared that this was true, that the people were weary of waiting. 

"And we will have our share, " added Lacaille, with a more menacingexpression. "All the revolutions that have taken place have been forthe good of the middle classes. We've had quite enough of that sort ofthing, and the next one shall be for our benefit. "

From this moment disagreement set in. Gavard offered to make a divisionof his property, but Logre declined, asserting that he cared nothing formoney. Then Charvet gradually overcame the tumult, till at last he alonewas heard speaking. 

"The selfishness of the different classes does more than anything elseto uphold tyranny, " said he. "It is wrong of the people to displayegotism. If they assist us they shall have their share. But why shouldI fight for the working man if the working man won't fight forme? Moreover, that is not the question at present. Ten years ofrevolutionary dictatorship will be necessary to accustom a nation likeFrance to the fitting enjoyment of liberty. "

"All the more so as the working man is not ripe for it, and requires tobe directed, " said Clemence bluntly. 

She but seldom spoke. This tall, serious looking girl, alone amongso many men, listened to all the political chatter with a learnedlycritical air. She leaned back against the partition, and every now andthen sipped her grog whilst gazing at the speakers with frowningbrows or inflated nostrils, thus silently signifying her approval ordisapproval, and making it quite clear that she held decided opinionsupon the most complicated matters. At times she would roll a cigarette, and puff slender whiffs of smoke from the corners of her mouth, whilstlending increased attention to what was being debated. It was as thoughshe were presiding over the discussion, and would award the prize tothe victor when it was finished. She certainly considered that it becameher, as a woman, to display some reserve in her opinions, and to remaincalm whilst the men grew more and more excited. Now and then, however, in the heat of the debate, she would let a word or a phrase escape herand "clench the matter" even for Charvet himself, as Gavard said. In herheart she believed herself the superior of all these fellows. The onlyone of them for whom she felt any respect was Robine, and she wouldthoughtfully contemplate his silent bearing. 

Neither Florent nor any of the others paid any special attention toClemence. They treated her just as though she were a man, shaking handswith her so roughly as almost to dislocate her arms. One evening Florentwitnessed the periodical settlement of accounts between her and Charvet. She had just received her pay, and Charvet wanted to borrow ten francsfrom her; but she first of all insisted that they must reckon uphow matters stood between them. They lived together in a voluntarypartnership, each having complete control of his or her earnings, andstrictly paying his or her expenses. By so doing, said they, they wereunder no obligations to one another, but retained entire freedom. Rent, food, washing, and amusements, were all noted down and added up. Thatevening, when the accounts had been verified, Clemence proved to Charvetthat he already owed her five francs. Then she handed him the other tenwhich he wished to borrow, and exclaimed: "Recollect that you now owe mefifteen. I shall expect you to repay me on the fifth, when you get paidfor teaching little Lehudier. "

When Rose was summoned to receive payment for the "drinks, " eachproduced the few coppers required to discharge his or her liability. Charvet laughingly called Clemence an aristocrat because she drank grog. She wanted to humiliate him, said he, and make him feel that he earnedless than she did, which, as it happened, was the fact. Beneath hislaugh, however, there was a feeling of bitterness that the girl shouldbe better circumstanced than himself, for, in spite of his theory of theequality of the sexes, this lowered him. 

Although the discussions in the little room had virtually no result, they served to exercise the speakers' lungs. A tremendous hubbubproceeded from the sanctum, and the panes of frosted glass vibratedlike drum-skins. Sometimes the uproar became so great that Rose, whilelanguidly serving some blouse-wearing customer in the shop, would turnher head uneasily. 

"Why, they're surely fighting together in there, " the customer wouldsay, as he put his glass down on the zinc-covered counter, and wiped hismouth with the back of his hand. 

"Oh, there's no fear of that, " Monsieur Lebigre tranquilly replied. "It's only some gentlemen talking together. "

Monsieur Lebigre, indeed, although very strict with his other customers, allowed the politicians to shout as loudly as they pleased, and nevermade the least remark on the subject. He would sit for hours together onthe bench behind the counter, with his big head lolling drowsily againstthe mirror, whilst he watched Rose uncorking the bottles and giving awipe here and there with her duster. And in spite of the somniferouseffects of the wine fumes and the warm streaming gaslight, he would keephis ears open to the sounds proceeding from the little room. At times, when the voices grew noisier than usual, he got up from his seat andwent to lean against the partition; and occasionally he even pushed thedoor open, and went inside and sat down there for a few minutes, givingGavard a friendly slap on the thigh. And then he would nod approvalof everything that was said. The poultry dealer asserted that althoughfriend Lebigre hadn't the stuff of an orator in him, they might safelyreckon on him when the "shindy" came. 

One morning, however, at the markets, when a tremendous row broke outbetween Rose and one of the fish-wives, through the former accidentallyknocking over a basket of herrings, Florent heard Rose's employer spokenof as a "dirty spy" in the pay of the police. And after he had succeededin restoring peace, all sorts of stories about Monsieur Lebigre werepoured into his ears. Yes, the wine seller was in the pay of the police, the fish-wives said; all the neighbourhood knew it. Before MademoiselleSaget had begun to deal with him she had once met him entering thePrefecture to make his report. It was asserted, too, that he was amoney-monger, a usurer, and lent petty sums by the day to costermongers, and let out barrows to them, exacting a scandalous rate of interest inreturn. Florent was greatly disturbed by all this, and felt it hisduty to repeat it that evening to his fellow politicians. The latter, however, only shrugged their shoulders, and laughed at his uneasiness. 

"Poor Florent!" Charvet exclaimed sarcastically; "he imagines the wholepolice force is on his track, just because he happens to have been sentto Cayenne!"

Gavard gave his word of honour that Lebigre was perfectly staunch andtrue, while Logre, for his part, manifested extreme irritation. He fumedand declared that it would be quite impossible for them to get on ifeveryone was to be accused of being a police spy; for his own part, hewould rather stay at home, and have nothing more to do with politics. Why, hadn't people even dared to say that he, Logre himself, who hadfought in '48 and '51, and had twice narrowly escaped transportation, was a spy as well? As he shouted this out, he thrust his jaws forward, and glared at the others as though he would have liked to ram theconviction that he had nothing to do with the police down their throats. At the sight of his furious glances his companions made gestures ofprotestation. However, Lacaille, on hearing Monsieur Lebigre accused ofusury, silently lowered his head. 

The incident was forgotten in the discussions which ensued. Since Logrehad suggested a conspiracy, Monsieur Lebigre had grasped the hands ofthe frequenters of the little room with more vigor than ever. Theircustom, to tell the truth, was of but small value to him, for they neverordered more than one "drink" apiece. They drained the last drops justas they rose to leave, having been careful to allow a little to remainin their glasses, even during their most heated arguments. In this wisethe one "shout" lasted throughout the evening. They shivered as theyturned out into the cold dampness of the night, and for a moment or tworemained standing on the footway with dazzled eyes and buzzing ears, as though surprised by the dark silence of the street. Rose, meanwhile, fastened the shutters behind them. Then, quite exhausted, at a loss foranother word they shook hands, separated, and went their different ways, still mentally continuing the discussion of the evening, and regrettingthat they could not ram their particular theories down each other'sthroats. Robine walked away, with his bent back bobbing up and down, inthe direction of the Rue Rambuteau; whilst Charvet and Clemence wentoff through the markets on their return to the Luxembourg quarter, theirheels sounding on the flag-stones in military fashion, whilst they stilldiscussed some question of politics or philosophy, walking along side byside, but never arm-in-arm. 

The conspiracy ripened very slowly. At the commencement of the summerthe plotters had got no further than agreeing that it was necessary astroke should be attempted. Florent, who had at first looked uponthe whole business with a kind of distrust, had now, however, come tobelieve in the possibility of a revolutionary movement. He took up thematter seriously; making notes, and preparing plans in writing, whilethe others still did nothing but talk. For his part, he began toconcentrate his whole life in the one persistent idea which made hisbrain throb night after night; and this to such a degree that he at lasttook his brother Quenu with him to Monsieur Lebigre's, as though such acourse were quite natural. Certainly he had no thought of doing anythingimproper. He still looked upon Quenu as in some degree his pupil, andmay even have considered it his duty to start him on the proper path. Quenu was an absolute novice in politics, but after spending five or sixevenings in the little room he found himself quite in accord with theothers. When Lisa was not present he manifested much docility, a sort ofrespect for his brother's opinions. But the greatest charm of the affairfor him was really the mild dissipation of leaving his shop and shuttinghimself up in the little room where the others shouted so loudly, andwhere Clemence's presence, in his opinion, gave a tinge of rakishnessand romance to the proceedings. He now made all haste with hischitterlings in order that he might get away as early as possible, anxious to lose not a single word of the discussions, which seemed tohim to be very brilliant, though he was not always able to follow them. The beautiful Lisa did not fail to notice his hurry to be gone, but asyet she refrained from saying anything. When Florent took him off, shesimply went to the door-step, and watched them enter Monsieur Lebigre's, her face paling somewhat, and a severe expression coming into her eyes. 

One evening, as Mademoiselle Saget was peering out of her garretcasement, she recognised Quenu's shadow on the frosted glass of the"cabinet" window facing the Rue Pirouette. She had found her casement anexcellent post of observation, as it overlooked that milky transparency, on which the gaslight threw silhouettes of the politicians, with nosessuddenly appearing and disappearing, gaping jaws abruptly springing intosight and then vanishing, and huge arms, apparently destitute of bodies, waving hither and thither. This extraordinary jumble of detachedlimbs, these silent but frantic profiles, bore witness to the heateddiscussions that went on in the little room, and kept the old maidpeering from behind her muslin curtains until the transparency turnedblack. She shrewdly suspected some "bit of trickery, " as she phrased it. By continual watching she had come to recognise the different shadowsby their hands and hair and clothes. As she gazed upon the chaos ofclenched fists, angry heads, and swaying shoulders, which seemed tohave become detached from their trunks and to roll about one atop of theother, she would exclaim unhesitatingly, "Ah, there's that big booby ofa cousin; there's that miserly old Gavard; and there's the hunchback;and there's that maypole of a Clemence!" Then, when the action of theshadow-play became more pronounced, and they all seemed to havelost control over themselves, she felt an irresistible impulse to godownstairs to try to find out what was happening. Thus she now made apoint of buying her black-currant syrup at nights, pretending that shefelt out-of-sorts in the morning, and was obliged to take a sip as soonas ever she was out of bed. On the evening when she noticed Quenu'smassive head shadowed on the transparency in close proximity toCharvet's fist, she made her appearance at Monsieur Lebigre's in abreathless condition. To gain more time, she made Rose rinse out herlittle bottle for her; however, she was about to return to her room whenshe heard the pork butcher exclaim with a sort of childish candour:

"No, indeed, we'll stand for it no longer! We'll make a clean sweep ofall those humbugging Deputies and Ministers! Yes, we'll send the wholelot packing. "

Eight o'clock had scarcely struck on the following morning whenMademoiselle Saget was already at the pork shop. She found MadameLecoeur and La Sarriette there, dipping their noses into theheating-pan, and buying hot sausages for breakfast. As the old maid hadmanaged to draw them into her quarrel with La Normande with respect tothe ten-sou dab, they had at once made friends again with Lisa, and theynow had nothing but contempt for the handsome fish-girl, and assailedher and her sister as good-for-nothing hussies, whose only aim wasto fleece men of their money. This opinion had been inspired by theassertions of Mademoiselle Saget, who had declared to Madame Lecoeurthat Florent had induced one of the two girls to coquette with Gavard, and that the four of them had indulged in the wildest dissipation atBarratte's--of course, at the poultry dealer's expense. From the effectsof this impudent story Madame Lecoeur had not yet recovered; she wore adoleful appearance, and her eyes were quite yellow with spleen. 

That morning, however, it was for Madame Quenu that the old maid hada shock in store. She looked round the counter, and then in her mostgentle voice remarked:

"I saw Monsieur Quenu last night. They seem to enjoy themselvesimmensely in that little room at Lebigre's, if one may judge from thenoise they make. "

Lisa had turned her head towards the street, listening very attentively, but apparently unwilling to show it. The old maid paused, hoping thatone of the others would question her; and then, in a lower tone, sheadded: "They had a woman with them. Oh, I don't mean Monsieur Quenu, ofcourse! I didn't say that; I don't know--"

"It must be Clemence, " interrupted La Sarriette; "a big scraggy creaturewho gives herself all sorts of airs just because she went to boardingschool. She lives with a threadbare usher. I've seen them together;they always look as though they were taking each other off to the policestation. "

"Oh, yes; I know, " replied the old maid, who, indeed, knew everythingabout Charvet and Clemence, and whose only purpose was to alarm Lisa. 

The mistress of the pork shop, however, never flinched. She seemed to beabsorbed in watching something of great interest in the market yonder. Accordingly the old maid had recourse to stronger measures. "I think, "said she, addressing herself to Madame Lecoeur, "that you ought toadvise your brother-in-law to be careful. Last night they were shoutingout the most shocking things in that little room. Men really seem tolose their heads over politics. If anyone had heard them, it might havebeen a very serious matter for them. "

"Oh! Gavard will go his own way, " sighed Madame Lecoeur. "It only wantedthis to fill my cup. I shall die of anxiety, I am sure, if he ever getsarrested. "

As she spoke, a gleam shot from her dim eyes. La Sarriette, however, laughed and wagged her little face, bright with the freshness of themorning air. 

"You should hear what Jules says of those who speak against the Empire, "she remarked. "They ought all to be thrown into the Seine, he told me;for it seems there isn't a single respectable person amongst them. "

"Oh! there's no harm done, of course, so long as only people like myselfhear their foolish talk, " resumed Mademoiselle Saget. "I'd rather cutmy hand off, you know, than make mischief. Last night now, for instance, Monsieur Quenu was saying----"

She again paused. Lisa had started slightly. 

"Monsieur Quenu was saying that the Ministers and Deputies and all whoare in power ought to be shot. "

At this Lisa turned sharply, her face quite white and her hands clenchedbeneath her apron. 

"Quenu said that?" she curtly asked. 

"Yes, indeed, and several other similar things that I can't recollectnow. I heard him myself. But don't distress yourself like that, MadameQuenu. You know very well that I sha'n't breathe a word. I'm quite oldenough to know what might harm a man if it came out. Oh, no; it will gono further. "

Lisa had recovered her equanimity. She took a pride in the happypeacefulness of her home; she would not acknowledge that there had everbeen the slightest difference between herself and her husband. And sonow she shrugged her shoulders and said with a smile: "Oh, it's all apack of foolish nonsense. "

When the three others were in the street together they agreed thathandsome Lisa had pulled a very doleful face; and they were unanimouslyof opinion that the mysterious goings-on of the cousin, the Mehudins, Gavard, and the Quenus would end in trouble. Madame Lecoeur inquiredwhat was done to the people who got arrested "for politics, " but on thispoint Mademoiselle Saget could not enlighten her; she only knew thatthey were never seen again--no, never. And this induced La Sarriette tosuggest that perhaps they were thrown into the Seine, as Jules had saidthey ought to be. 

Lisa avoided all reference to the subject at breakfast and dinner thatday; and even in the evening, when Florent and Quenu went off togetherto Monsieur Lebigre's, there was no unwonted severity in her glance. Onthat particular evening, however, the question of framing a constitutionfor the future came under discussion, and it was one o'clock in themorning before the politicians could tear themselves away from thelittle room. The shutters had already been fastened, and they wereobliged to leave by a small door, passing out one at a time with bentbacks. Quenu returned home with an uneasy conscience. He opened thethree or four doors on his way to bed as gently as possible, walkingon tip-toe and stretching out his hands as he passed through thesitting-room, to avoid a collision with any of the furniture. The wholehouse seemed to be asleep. When he reached the bedroom, he was annoyedto find that Lisa had not extinguished the candle, which was burningwith a tall, mournful flame in the midst of the deep silence. As Quenutook off his shoes, and put them down in a corner, the time-piece struckhalf past one with such a clear, ringing sound that he turned in alarm, almost frightened to move, and gazing with an expression of angryreproach at the shining gilded Gutenberg standing there, with his fingeron a book. Lisa's head was buried in her pillow, and Quenu could onlysee her back; but he divined that she was merely feigning sleep, and herconduct in turning her back upon him was so instinct with reproach thathe felt sorely ill at ease. At last he slipped beneath the bed-clothes, blew out the candle, and lay perfectly still. He could have sworn thathis wife was awake, though she did not speak to him; and presently hefell asleep, feeling intensely miserable, and lacking the courage to saygood night. 

He slept till late, and when he awoke he found himself sprawling in themiddle of the bed with the eider-down quilt up to his chin, whilst Lisasat in front of the secretaire, arranging some papers. His slumberhad been so heavy that he had not heard her rise. However, he now tookcourage, and spoke to her from the depths of the alcove: "Why didn't youwake me? What are you doing there?"

"I'm sorting the papers in these drawers, " she replied in her usual toneof voice. 

Quenu felt relieved. But Lisa added: "One never knows what may happen. If the police were to come--"

"What! the police?"

"Yes, indeed, the police; for you're mixing yourself up with politicsnow. "

At this Quenu sat up in bed, quite dazed and confounded by such aviolent and unexpected attack. 

"I mix myself up with politics! I mix myself up with politics!" herepeated. "It's no concern of the police. I've nothing to do with anycompromising matters. "

"No, " replied Lisa, shrugging her shoulders; "you merely talk aboutshooting everybody. "

"I! I!"

"Yes. And you bawl it out in a public-house! Mademoiselle Saget heardyou. All the neighbourhood knows by this time that you are a RedRepublican!"

Quenu fell back in bed again. He was not perfectly awake as yet. Lisa'swords resounded in his ears as though he already heard the heavy trampof gendarmes at the bedroom door. He looked at her as she sat there, with her hair already arranged, her figure tightly imprisoned in herstays, her whole appearance the same as it was on any other morning; andhe felt more astonished than ever that she should be so neat and primunder such extraordinary circumstances. 

"I leave you absolutely free, you know, " she continued, as she went onarranging the papers. "I don't want to wear the breeches, as the sayinggoes. You are the master, and you are at liberty to endanger yourposition, compromise our credit, and ruin our business. "

Then, as Quenu tried to protest, she silenced him with a gesture. "No, no; don't say anything, " she continued. "This is no quarrel, and I amnot even asking an explanation from you. But if you had consulted me, and we had talked the matter over together, I might have intervened. Ah! it's a great mistake to imagine that women understand nothing aboutpolitics. Shall I tell you what my politics are?"

She had risen from her seat whilst speaking, and was now walking to andfro between the bed and the window, wiping as she went some specksof dust from the bright mahogany of the mirrored wardrobe and thedressing-table. 

"My politics are the politics of honest folks, " said she. "I'm gratefulto the Government when business is prosperous, when I can eat my mealsin peace and comfort, and can sleep at nights without being awakened bythe firing of guns. There were pretty times in '48, were there not? Youremember our uncle Gradelle, the worthy man, showing us his books forthat year? He lost more than six thousand francs. Now that we have gotthe Empire, however, everything prospers. We sell our goods readilyenough. You can't deny it. Well, then, what is it that you want? Howwill you be better off when you have shot everybody?"

She took her stand in front of the little night-table, crossed her armsover her breast, and fixed her eyes upon Quenu, who had shuffled himselfbeneath the bed-clothes, almost out of sight. He attempted to explainwhat it was that his friends wanted, but he got quite confused in hisendeavours to summarise Florent's and Charvet's political and socialsystems; and could only talk about the disregard shown to principles, the accession of the democracy to power, and the regeneration ofsociety, in such a strange tangled way that Lisa shrugged her shoulders, quite unable to understand him. At last, however, he extricated himselffrom his difficulties by declaring that the Empire was the reign oflicentiousness, swindling finance, and highway robbery. And, recallingan expression of Logre's he added: "We are the prey of a band ofadventurers, who are pillaging, violating, and assassinating France. We'll have no more of them. "

Lisa, however, still shrugged her shoulders. 

"Well, and is that all you have got to say?" she asked with perfectcoolness. "What has all that got to do with me? Even supposing it weretrue, what then? Have I ever advised you to practise dishonest courses?Have I ever prompted you to dishonour your acceptances, or cheat yourcustomers, or pile up money by fraudulent practices? Really, you'll endby making me quite angry! We are honest folks, and we don't pillage orassassinate anybody. That's quite sufficient. What other folks do is noconcern of ours. If they choose to be rogues it's their affair. "

She looked quite majestic and triumphant; and again pacing the room, drawing herself up to her full height, she resumed: "A pretty notionit is that people are to let their business go to rack and ruin just toplease those who are penniless. For my part, I'm in favour of making haywhile the sun shines, and supporting a Government which promotes trade. If it does do dishonourable things, I prefer to know nothing about them. I know that I myself commit none, and that no one in the neighbourhoodcan point a finger at me. It's only fools who go tilting at windmills. At the time of the last elections, you remember, Gavard said that theEmperor's candidate had been bankrupt, and was mixed up in all sorts ofscandalous matters. Well, perhaps that was true, I don't deny it; butall the same, you acted wisely in voting for him, for all that was notin question; you were not asked to lend the man any money or to transactany business with him, but merely to show the Government that you werepleased with the prosperity of the pork trade. "

At this moment Quenu called to mind a sentence of Charvet's, assertingthat "the bloated bourgeois, the sleek shopkeepers, who backed up thatGovernment of universal gormandising, ought to be hurled into the sewersbefore all others, for it was owing to them and their gluttonous egotismthat tyranny had succeeded in mastering and preying upon the nation. " Hewas trying to complete this piece of eloquence when Lisa, carried off byher indignation, cut him short. 

"Don't talk such stuff! My conscience doesn't reproach me with anything. I don't owe a copper to anybody; I'm not mixed up in any dishonestbusiness; I buy and sell good sound stuff; and I charge no more thanothers do. What you say may perhaps apply to people like our cousins, the Saccards. They pretend to be even ignorant that I am in Paris; butI am prouder than they are, and I don't care a rap for their millions. It's said that Saccard speculates in condemned buildings, and cheats androbs everybody. I'm not surprised to hear it, for he was always that wayinclined. He loves money just for the sake of wallowing in it, and thentossing it out of his windows, like the imbecile he is. I can understandpeople attacking men of his stamp, who pile up excessive fortunes. Formy part, if you care to know it, I have but a bad opinion of Saccard. But we--we who live so quietly and peaceably, who will need at leastfifteen years to put by sufficient money to make ourselves comfortablyindependent, we who have no reason to meddle in politics, and whoseonly aim is to bring up our daughter respectably, and to see that ourbusiness prospers--why you must be joking to talk such stuff about us. We are honest folks!"

She came and sat down on the edge of the bed. Quenu was already muchshaken in his opinions. 

"Listen to me, now, " she resumed in a more serious voice. "You surelydon't want to see your own shop pillaged, your cellar emptied, and yourmoney taken from you? If these men who meet at Monsieur Lebigre's shouldprove triumphant, do you think that you would then lie as comfortablyin your bed as you do now? And on going down into the kitchen, do youimagine that you would set about making your galantines as peacefullyas you will presently? No, no, indeed! So why do you talk aboutoverthrowing a Government which protects you, and enables you to putmoney by? You have a wife and a daughter, and your first duty is towardsthem. You would be in fault if you imperilled their happiness. It isonly those who have neither home nor hearth, who have nothing to lose, who want to be shooting people. Surely you don't want to pull thechestnuts out of the fire for _them_! So stay quietly at home, youfoolish fellow, sleep comfortably, eat well, make money, keep an easyconscience, and leave France to free herself of the Empire if the Empireannoys her. France can get on very well without _you_. "

She laughed her bright melodious laugh as she finished; and Quenu wasnow altogether convinced. Yes, she was right, after all; and she lookedso charming, he thought, as she sat there on the edge of the bed, sotrim, although it was so early, so bright, and so fresh in the dazzlingwhiteness of her linen. As he listened to her his eyes fell on theirportraits hanging on either side of the fireplace. Yes, they werecertainly honest folks; they had such a respectable, well-to-do air intheir black clothes and their gilded frames! The bedroom, too, lookedas though it belonged to people of some account in the world. The lacesquares seemed to give a dignified appearance to the chairs; andthe carpet, the curtains, and the vases decorated with paintedlandscapes--all spoke of their exertions to get on in the world andtheir taste for comfort. Thereupon he plunged yet further beneath theeider-down quilt, which kept him in a state of pleasant warmth. Hebegan to feel that he had risked losing all these things at MonsieurLebigre's--his huge bed, his cosy room, and his business, on whichhis thoughts now dwelt with tender remorse. And from Lisa, from thefurniture, from all his cosy surroundings, he derived a sense of comfortwhich thrilled him with a delightful, overpowering charm. 

"You foolish fellow!" said his wife, seeing that he was now quiteconquered. "A pretty business it was that you'd embarked upon; but you'dhave had to reckon with Pauline and me, I can tell you! And now don'tbother your head any more about the Government. To begin with, allGovernments are alike, and if we didn't have this one, we should haveanother. A Government is necessary. But the one thing is to be able tolive on, to spend one's savings in peace and comfort when one grows old, and to know that one has gained one's means honestly. "

Quenu nodded his head in acquiescence, and tried to commence ajustification of his conduct. 

"It was Gavard--, " he began. 

But Lisa's face again assumed a serious expression, and she interruptedhim sharply. 

"No, it was not Gavard. I know very well who it was; and it would bea great deal better if he would look after his own safety beforecompromising that of others. "

"Is it Florent you mean?" Quenu timidly inquired after a pause. 

Lisa did not immediately reply. She got up and went back to thesecretaire, as if trying to restrain herself. 

"Yes, it is Florent, " she said presently, in incisive tones. "You knowhow patient I am. I would bear almost anything rather than come betweenyou and your brother. The tie of relationship is a sacred thing. But thecup is filled to overflowing now. Since your brother came here thingshave been constantly getting worse and worse. But now, I won't sayanything more; it is better that I shouldn't. "

There was another pause. Then, as her husband gazed up at the ceilingwith an air of embarrassment, she continued, with increased violence:

"Really, he seems to ignore all that we have done for him. We haveput ourselves to great inconvenience for his sake; we have given himAugustine's bedroom, and the poor girl sleeps without a murmur in astuffy little closet where she can scarcely breathe. We board and lodgehim and give him every attention--but no, he takes it all quite as amatter of course. He is earning money, but what he does with it nobodyknows; or, rather, one knows only too well. "

"But there's his share of the inheritance, you know, " Quenu ventured tosay, pained at hearing his brother attacked. 

Lisa suddenly stiffened herself as though she were stunned, and heranger vanished. 

"Yes, you are right; there is his share of the inheritance. Here isthe statement of it, in this drawer. But he refused to take it; youremember, you were present, and heard him. That only proves that he is abrainless, worthless fellow. If he had had an idea in his head, he wouldhave made something out of that money by now. For my own part, I shouldbe very glad to get rid of it; it would be a relief to us. I have toldhim so twice, but he won't listen to me. You ought to persuade him totake it. Talk to him about it, will you?"

Quenu growled something in reply; and Lisa refrained from pressing thepoint further, being of opinion that she had done all that could beexpected of her. 

"He is not like other men, " she resumed. "He's not a comfortable sort ofperson to have in the house. I shouldn't have said this if we hadn't gottalking on the subject. I don't busy myself about his conduct, thoughit's setting the whole neighbourhood gossiping about us. Let him eatand sleep here, and put us about, if he likes; we can get over that; butwhat I won't tolerate is that he should involve us in his politics. Ifhe tries to lead you off again, or compromises us in the least degree, I shall turn him out of the house without the least hesitation. I warnyou, and now you understand!"

Florent was doomed. Lisa was making a great effort to restrain herself, to prevent the animosity which had long been rankling in her heartfrom flowing forth. But Florent and his ways jarred against her everyinstinct; he wounded her, frightened her, and made her quite miserable. 

"A man who has made such a discreditable career, " she murmured, "who hasnever been able to get a roof of his own over his head! I can very wellunderstand his partiality for bullets! He can go and stand in their wayif he chooses; but let him leave honest folks to their families! Andthen, he isn't pleasant to have about one! He reeks of fish in theevening at dinner! It prevents me from eating. He himself never lets amouthful go past him, though it's little better he seems to be for itall! He can't even grow decently stout, the wretched fellow, to such adegree do his bad instincts prey on him!"

She had stepped up to the window whilst speaking, and now saw Florentcrossing the Rue Rambuteau on his way to the fish market. There wasa very large arrival of fish that morning; the tray-like baskets werecovered with rippling silver, and the auction rooms roared with thehubbub of their sales. Lisa kept her eyes on the bony shoulders of herbrother-in-law as he made his way into the pungent smells of the market, stooping beneath the sickening sensation which they brought him; andthe glance with which she followed his steps was that of a woman bent oncombat and resolved to be victorious. 

When she turned round again, Quenu was getting up. As he sat on the edgeof the bed in his night-shirt, still warm from the pleasant heat of theeider-down quilt and with his feet resting on the soft fluffy rug belowhim, he looked quite pale, quite distressed at the misunderstandingbetween his wife and his brother. Lisa, however, gave him one of hersweetest smiles, and he felt deeply touched when she handed him hissocks. 

CHAPTER IV

Marjolin had been found in a heap of cabbages at the Market of theInnocents. He was sleeping under the shelter of a large white-heartedone, a broad leaf of which concealed his rosy childish face It was neverknown what poverty-stricken mother had laid him there. When he was foundhe was already a fine little fellow of two or three years of age, very plump and merry, but so backward and dense that he could scarcelystammer a few words, and only seemed able to smile. When one of thevegetable saleswomen found him lying under the big white cabbage sheraised such a loud cry of surprise that her neighbours rushed up tosee what was the matter, while the youngster, still in petticoats, andwrapped in a scrap of old blanket, held out his arms towards her. He could not tell who his mother was, but opened his eyes in wideastonishment as he squeezed against the shoulder of a stout tripe dealerwho eventually took him up. The whole market busied itself about himthroughout the day. He soon recovered confidence, ate slices of breadand butter, and smiled at all the women. The stout tripe dealer kept himfor a time, then a neighbour took him; and a month later a third womangave him shelter. When they asked him where his mother was, he waved hislittle hand with a pretty gesture which embraced all the women present. He became the adopted child of the place, always clinging to the skirtsof one or another of the women, and always finding a corner of a bed anda share of a meal somewhere. Somehow, too, he managed to find clothes, and he even had a copper or two at the bottom of his ragged pockets. Itwas a buxom, ruddy girl dealing in medicinal herbs who gave him the nameof Marjolin, [*] though no one knew why. 

[*] Literally "Marjoram. "

When Marjolin was nearly four years of age, old Mother Chantemesse alsohappened to find a child, a little girl, lying on the footway of the RueSaint Denis, near the corner of the market. Judging by the little one'ssize, she seemed to be a couple of years old, but she could alreadychatter like a magpie, murdering her words in an incessant childishbabble. Old Mother Chantemesse after a time gathered that her name wasCadine, and that on the previous evening her mother had left her sittingon a doorstep, with instructions to wait till she returned. The childhad fallen asleep there, and did not cry. She related that she wasbeaten at home; and she gladly followed Mother Chantemesse, seeminglyquite enchanted with that huge square, where there were so many peopleand such piles of vegetables. Mother Chantemesse, a retail dealer bytrade, was a crusty but very worthy woman, approaching her sixtiethyear. She was extremely fond of children, and had lost three boys of herown when they were mere babies. She came to the opinion that the chitshe had found "was far too wide awake to kick the bucket, " and so sheadopted her. 

One evening, however, as she was going off home with her right handclasping Cadine's, Marjolin came up and unceremoniously caught hold ofher left hand. 

"Nay, my lad, " said the old woman, stopping, "the place is filled. Haveyou left your big Therese, then? What a fickle little gadabout you are!"

The boy gazed at her with his smiling eyes, without letting go of herhand. He looked so pretty with his curly hair that she could not resisthim. "Well, come along, then, you little scamp, " said she; "I'll put youto bed as well. "

Thus she made her appearance in the Rue au Lard, where she lived, witha child clinging to either hand. Marjolin made himself quite at homethere. When the two children proved too noisy the old woman cuffed them, delighted to shout and worry herself, and wash the youngsters, and packthem away beneath the blankets. She had fixed them up a little bed inan old costermonger's barrow, the wheels and shafts of which haddisappeared. It was like a big cradle, a trifle hard, but retaining astrong scent of the vegetables which it had long kept fresh and coolbeneath a covering of damp cloths. And there, when four years old, Cadine and Marjolin slept locked in each other's arms. 

They grew up together, and were always to be seen with their arms aboutone another's waist. At night time old Mother Chantemesse heard themprattling softly. Cadine's clear treble went chattering on for hourstogether, while Marjolin listened with occasional expressions ofastonishment vented in a deeper tone. The girl was a mischievous youngcreature, and concocted all sorts of stories to frighten her companion;telling him, for instance, that she had one night seen a man, dressedall in white, looking at them and putting out a great red tongue, atthe foot of the bed. Marjolin quite perspired with terror, and anxiouslyasked for further particulars; but the girl would then begin to jeer athim, and end by calling him a big donkey. At other times they werenot so peaceably disposed, but kicked each other beneath the blankets. Cadine would pull up her legs, and try to restrain her laughter asMarjolin missed his aim, and sent his feet banging against the wall. When this happened, old Madame Chantemesse was obliged to get up to putthe bed-clothes straight again; and, by way of sending the children tosleep, she would administer a box on the ear to both of them. For a longtime their bed was a sort of playground. They carried their toys intoit, and munched stolen carrots and turnips as they lay side by side. Every morning their adopted mother was amazed at the strange things shefound in the bed--pebbles, leaves, apple cores, and dolls made out ofscraps of rags. When the very cold weather came, she went off to herwork, leaving them sleeping there, Cadine's black mop mingling withMarjolin's sunny curls, and their mouths so near together that theylooked as though they were keeping each other warm with their breath. 

The room in the Rue au Lard was a big, dilapidated garret, with a singlewindow, the panes of which were dimmed by the rain. The children wouldplay at hide-and-seek in the tall walnut wardrobe and underneath MotherChantemesse's colossal bed. There were also two or three tables in theroom, and they crawled under these on all fours. They found the place avery charming playground, on account of the dim light and the vegetablesscattered about in the dark corners. The street itself, too, narrow andvery quiet, with a broad arcade opening into the Rue de la Lingerie, provided them with plenty of entertainment. The door of the house was bythe side of the arcade; it was a low door and could only be opened halfway owing to the near proximity of the greasy corkscrew staircase. Thehouse, which had a projecting pent roof and a bulging front, dark withdamp, and displaying greenish drain-sinks near the windows of eachfloor, also served as a big toy for the young couple. They spent theirmornings below in throwing stones up into the drain-sinks, and thestones thereupon fell down the pipes with a very merry clatter. In thusamusing themselves, however, they managed to break a couple of windows, and filled the drains with stones, so that Mother Chantemesse, who hadlived in the house for three and forty years, narrowly escaped beingturned out of it. 

Cadine and Marjolin then directed their attention to the vans and draysand tumbrels which were drawn up in the quiet street. They clambered onto the wheels, swung from the dangling chains, and larked about amongstthe piles of boxes and hampers. Here also were the back premises of thecommission agents of the Rue de la Poterie--huge, gloomy warehouses, each day filled and emptied afresh, and affording a constant successionof delightful hiding-places, where the youngsters buried themselvesamidst the scent of dried fruits, oranges, and fresh apples. Whenthey got tired of playing in his way, they went off to join oldMadame Chantemesse at the Market of the Innocents. They arrived therearm-in-arm, laughing gaily as they crossed the streets with never theslightest fear of being run over by the endless vehicles. They knew thepavement well, and plunged their little legs knee-deep in the vegetablerefuse without ever slipping. They jeered merrily at any porter inheavy boots who, in stepping over an artichoke stem, fell sprawlingfull-length upon the ground. They were the rosy-cheeked familiar spiritsof those greasy streets. They were to be seen everywhere. 

On rainy days they walked gravely beneath the shelter of a ragged oldumbrella, with which Mother Chantemesse had protected her stock-in-tradefor twenty years, and sticking it up in a corner of the market theycalled it their house. On sunny days they romped to such a degree thatwhen evening came they were almost too tired to move. They bathed theirfeet in the fountains, dammed up the gutters, or hid themselves beneathpiles of vegetables, and remained there prattling to each other just asthey did in bed at night. People passing some huge mountain of cos orcabbage lettuces often heard a muffled sound of chatter coming fromit. And when the green-stuff was removed, the two children would bediscovered lying side by side on their couch of verdure, their eyesglistening uneasily like those of birds discovered in the depth of athicket. As time went on, Cadine could not get along without Marjolin, and Marjolin began to cry when he lost sight of Cadine. If they happenedto get separated, they sought one another behind the petticoats of everystallkeeper in the markets, amongst the boxes and under the cabbages. Ifwas, indeed, chiefly under the cabbages that they grew up and learned tolove each other. 

Marjolin was nearly eight years old, and Cadine six, when old MadameChantemesse began to reproach them for their idleness. She told themthat she would interest them in her business, and pay them a sou a dayto assist her in paring her vegetables. During the first few days thechildren displayed eager zeal; they squatted down on either side ofthe big flat basket with little knives in their hands, and worked awayenergetically. Mother Chantemesse made a specialty of pared vegetables;on her stall, covered with a strip of damp black lining, were littlelots of potatoes, turnips, carrots, and white onions, arranged inpyramids of four--three at the base and one at the apex, all quite readyto be popped into the pans of dilatory housewives. She also had bundlesduly stringed in readiness for the soup-pot--four leeks, three carrots, a parsnip, two turnips, and a couple of springs of celery. Then therewere finely cut vegetables for julienne soup laid out on squares ofpaper, cabbages cut into quarters, and little heaps of tomatoes andslices of pumpkin which gleamed like red stars and golden crescentsamidst the pale hues of the other vegetables. Cadine evinced much moredexterity than Marjolin, although she was younger. The peelings of thepotatoes she pared were so thin that you could see through them; shetied up the bundles for the soup-pot so artistically that they lookedlike bouquets; and she had a way of making the little heaps she set up, though they contained but three carrots or turnips, look like very bigones. The passers-by would stop and smile when she called out in hershrill childish voice: "Madame! madame! come and try me! Each littlepile for two sous. "

She had her regular customers, and her little piles and bundles werewidely known. Old Mother Chantemesse, seated between the two children, would indulge in a silent laugh which made her bosom rise almost toher chin, at seeing them working away so seriously. She paid them theirdaily sous most faithfully. But they soon began to weary of the littleheaps and bundles; they were growing up, and began to dream of some morelucrative business. Marjolin remained very childish for his years, andthis irritated Cadine. He had no more brains than a cabbage, she oftensaid. And it was, indeed, quite useless for her to devise any plan forhim to make money; he never earned any. He could not even do an errandsatisfactorily. The girl, on the other hand, was very shrewd. When buteight years old she obtained employment from one of those women who siton a bench in the neighbourhood of the markets provided with a basketof lemons, and employ a troop of children to go about selling them. Carrying the lemons in her hands and offering them at two for threesous, Cadine thrust them under every woman's nose, and ran after everypasser-by. Her hands empty, she hastened back for a fresh supply. Shewas paid two sous for every dozen lemons that she sold, and on gooddays she could earn some five or six sous. During the following yearshe hawked caps at nine sous apiece, which proved a more profitablebusiness; only she had to keep a sharp look-out, as street trading ofthis kind is forbidden unless one be licensed. However, she scenteda policeman at a distance of a hundred yards; and the caps forthwithdisappeared under her skirts, whilst she began to munch an apple withan air of guileless innocence. Then she took to selling pastry, cakes, cherry-tarts, gingerbread, and thick yellow maize biscuits on wickertrays. Marjolin, however, ate up nearly the whole of her stock-in-trade. At last, when she was eleven years old, she succeeded in realising agrand idea which had long been worrying her. In a couple of months sheput by four francs, bought a small _hotte_, [*] and then set up as adealer in birds' food. 

[*] A basket carried on the back. --Translator. 

It was a big affair. She got up early in the morning and purchased herstock of groundsel, millet, and bird-cake from the wholesaledealers. Then she set out on her day's work, crossing the river, andperambulating the Latin Quarter from the Rue Saint Jacques to the RueDauphine, and even to the Luxembourg. Marjolin used to accompany her, but she would not let him carry the basket. He was only fit to call out, she said; and so, in his thick, drawling voice, he would raise the cry, "Chickweed for the little birds!"

Then Cadine herself, with her flute-like voice, would start on a strangescale of notes ending in a clear, protracted alto, "Chickweed for thelittle birds!"

They each took one side of the road, and looked up in the air as theywalked along. In those days Marjolin wore a big scarlet waistcoatwhich hung down to his knees; it had belonged to the defunct MonsieurChantemesse, who had been a cab-driver. Cadine for her part wore a whiteand blue check gown, made out of an old tartan of Madame Chantemesse's. All the canaries in the garrets of the Latin Quarter knew them; and, asthey passed along, repeating their cry, each echoing the other's voice, every cage poured out a song. 

Cadine sold water-cress, too. "Two sous a bunch! Two sous a bunch!" AndMarjolin went into the shops to offer it for sale. "Fine water-cress!Health for the body! Fine fresh water-cress!"

However, the new central markets had just been erected, and the girlwould stand gazing in ecstacy at the avenue of flower stalls which runsthrough the fruit pavilion. Here on either hand, from end to end, bigclumps of flowers bloom as in the borders of a garden walk. It is aperfect harvest, sweet with perfume, a double hedge of blossoms, betweenwhich the girls of the neighbourhood love to walk, smiling the while, though almost stifled by the heavy perfume. And on the top tiers of thestalls are artificial flowers, with paper leaves, in which dewdrops aresimulated by drops of gum; and memorial wreaths of black and white beadsrippling with bluish reflections. Cadine's rosy nostrils would dilatewith feline sensuality; she would linger as long as possible in thatsweet freshness, and carry as much of the perfume away with her as shecould. When her hair bobbed under Marjolin's nose he would remark thatit smelt of pinks. She said that she had given over using pomatum; thatis was quite sufficient for her to stroll through the flower walk inorder to scent her hair. Next she began to intrigue and scheme withsuch success that she was engaged by one of the stallkeepers. And thenMarjolin declared that she smelt sweet from head to foot. She lived inthe midst of roses, lilacs, wall-flowers, and lilies of the valley;and Marjolin would playfully smell at her skirts, feign a momentaryhesitation, and then exclaim, "Ah, that's lily of the valley!" Next hewould sniff at her waist and bodice: "Ah, that's wall-flowers!" And ather sleeves and wrists: "Ah, that's lilac!" And at her neck, and hercheeks and lips: "Ah, but that's roses!" he would cry. Cadine used tolaugh at him, and call him a "silly stupid, " and tell him to get away, because he was tickling her with the tip of his nose. As she spoke herbreath smelt of jasmine. She was verily a bouquet, full of warmth andlife. 

She now got up at four o'clock every morning to assist her mistress inher purchases. Each day they bought armfuls of flowers from thesuburban florists, with bundles of moss, and bundles of fern fronds, and periwinkle leaves to garnish the bouquets. Cadine would gaze withamazement at the diamonds and Valenciennes worn by the daughters ofthe great gardeners of Montreuil, who came to the markets amidst theirroses. 

On the saints' days of popular observance, such as Saint Mary's, SaintPeter's, and Saint Joseph's days, the sale of flowers began at twoo'clock. More than a hundred thousand francs' worth of cut flowers wouldbe sold on the footways, and some of the retail dealers would makeas much as two hundred francs in a few hours. On days like those onlyCadine's curly locks peered over the mounds of pansies, mignonette, andmarguerites. She was quite drowned and lost in the flood of flowers. Then she would spend all her time in mounting bouquets on bits of rush. In a few weeks she acquired considerable skillfulness in her business, and manifested no little originality. Her bouquets did not alwaysplease everybody, however. Sometimes they made one smile, sometimes theyalarmed the eyes. Red predominated in them, mottled with violent tintsof blue, yellow, and violet of a barbaric charm. On the mornings whenshe pinched Marjolin, and teased him till she made him cry, she made upfierce-looking bouquets, suggestive of her own bad temper, bouquetswith strong rough scents and glaring irritating colours. On other days, however, when she was softened by some thrill of joy or sorrow, herbouquets would assume a tone of silvery grey, very soft and subdued, anddelicately perfumed. 

Then, too, she would set roses, as sanguineous as open hearts, in lakesof snow-white pinks; arrange bunches of tawny iris that shot up intufts of flame from foliage that seemed scared by the brilliance of theflowers; work elaborate designs, as complicated as those of Smyrna rugs, adding flower to flower, as on a canvas; and prepare rippling fanlikebouquets spreading out with all the delicacy of lace. Here was a clusterof flowers of delicious purity, there a fat nosegay, whatever one mightdream of for the hand of a marchioness or a fish-wife; all the charmingquaint fancies, in short, which the brain of a sharp-witted child oftwelve, budding into womanhood, could devise. 

There were only two flowers for which Cadine retained respect; whitelilac, which by the bundle of eight or ten sprays cost from fifteen totwenty francs in the winter time; and camellias, which were still morecostly, and arrived in boxes of a dozen, lying on beds of moss, andcovered with cotton wool. She handled these as delicately as though theywere jewels, holding her breath for fear of dimming their lustre, andfastening their short stems to springs of cane with the tenderest care. She spoke of them with serious reverence. She told Marjolin one daythat a speckless white camellia was a very rare and exceptionally lovelything, and, as she was making him admire one, he exclaimed: "Yes;it's pretty; but I prefer your neck, you know. It's much more soft andtransparent than the camellia, and there are some little blue and pinkveins just like the pencillings on a flower. " Then, drawing near andsniffing, he murmured: "Ah! you smell of orange blossom to-day. "

Cadine was self-willed, and did not get on well in the position of aservant, so she ended by setting up in business on her own account. Asshe was only thirteen at the time, and could not hope for a big tradeand a stall in the flower avenue, she took to selling one-sou bunchesof violets pricked into a bed of moss in an osier tray which she carriedhanging from her neck. All day long she wandered about the markets andtheir precincts with her little bit of hanging garden. She loved thiscontinual stroll, which relieved the numbness of her limbs after longhours spent, with bent knees, on a low chair, making bouquets. Shefastened her violets together with marvellous deftness as she walkedalong. She counted out six or eight flowers, according to the season, doubled a sprig of cane in half, added a leaf, twisted some damp threadround the whole, and broke off the thread with her strong young teeth. The little bunches seemed to spring spontaneously from the layer ofmoss, so rapidly did she stick them into it. 

Along the footways, amidst the jostling of the street traffic, hernimble fingers were ever flowering though she gave them not a glance, but boldly scanned the shops and passers-by. Sometimes she would rest ina doorway for a moment; and alongside the gutters, greasy with kitchenslops, she sat, as it were a patch of springtime, a suggestion of greenwoods, and purple blossoms. Her flowers still betokened her frame ofmind, her fits of bad temper and her thrills of tenderness. Sometimesthey bristled and glowered with anger amidst their crumpled leaves; atother times they spoke only of love and peacefulness as they smiled intheir prim collars. As Cadine passed along, she left a sweet perfumebehind her; Marjolin followed her devoutly. From head to foot she nowexhaled but one scent, and the lad repeated that she was herself aviolet, a great big violet. 

"Do you remember the day when we went to Romainville together?" he wouldsay; "Romainville, where there are so many violets. The scent was justthe same. Oh! don't change again--you smell too sweetly. "

And she did not change again. This was her last trade. Still, she oftenneglected her osier tray to go rambling about the neighbourhood. Thebuilding of the central markets--as yet incomplete--provided bothchildren with endless opportunities for amusement. They made their wayinto the midst of the work-yards through some gap or other betweenthe planks; they descended into the foundations, and climbed up to thecast-iron pillars. Every nook, every piece of the framework witnessedtheir games and quarrels; the pavilions grew up under the touch of theirlittle hands. From all this arose the affection which they felt forthe great markets, and which the latter seemed to return. They were onfamiliar terms with that gigantic pile, old friends as they were, whohad seen each pin and bolt put into place. They felt no fear of the hugemonster; but slapped it with their childish hands, treated it likea good friend, a chum whose presence brought no constraint. And themarkets seemed to smile at these two light-hearted children, whose lovewas the song, the idyll of their immensity. 

Cadine alone now slept at Mother Chantemesse's. The old woman had packedMarjolin off to a neighbour's. This made the two children very unhappy. Still, they contrived to spend much of their time together. In thedaytime they would hide themselves away in the warehouses of the Rue auLard, behind piles of apples and cases of oranges; and in the eveningthey would dive into the cellars beneath the poultry market, and secretthemselves among the huge hampers of feathers which stood near theblocks where the poultry was killed. They were quite alone there, amidstthe strong smell of the poultry, and with never a sound but the suddencrowing of some rooster to break upon their babble and theirlaughter. The feathers amidst which they found themselves were ofall sorts--turkey's feathers, long and black; goose quills, white andflexible; the downy plumage of ducks, soft like cotton wool; and theruddy and mottled feathers of fowls, which at the faintest breath flewup in a cloud like a swarm of flies buzzing in the sun. And then inwintertime there was the purple plumage of the pheasants, the ashengrey of the larks, the splotched silk of the partridges, quails, andthrushes. And all these feathers freshly plucked were still warm andodoriferous, seemingly endowed with life. The spot was as cosy as anest; at times a quiver as of flapping wings sped by, and Marjolin andCadine, nestling amidst all the plumage, often imagined that they werebeing carried aloft by one of those huge birds with outspread pinionsthat one hears of in the fairy tales. 

As time went on their childish affection took the inevitable turn. Veritable offsprings of Nature, knowing naught of social conventions andrestraints, they loved one another in all innocence and guilelessness. They mated even as the birds of the air mate, even as youth and maidmated in primeval times, because such is Nature's law. At sixteenCadine was a dusky town gipsy, greedy and sensual, whilst Marjolin, noweighteen, was a tall, strapping fellow, as handsome a youth as couldbe met, but still with his mental faculties quite undeveloped. He hadlived, indeed, a mere animal life, which had strengthened his frame, butleft his intellect in a rudimentary state. 

When old Madame Chantemesse realised the turn that things were takingshe wrathfully upbraided Cadine and struck out vigorously at her withher broom. But the hussy only laughed and dodged the blows, and thenhied off to her lover. And gradually the markets became their home, their manger, their aviary, where they lived and loved amidst the meat, the butter, the vegetables, and the feathers. 

They discovered another little paradise in the pavilion where butter, eggs, and cheese were sold wholesale. Enormous walls of empty basketswere here piled up every morning, and amidst these Cadine and Marjolinburrowed and hollowed out a dark lair for themselves. A mere partitionof osier-work separated them from the market crowd, whose loud voicesrang out all around them. They often shook with laughter when people, without the least suspicion of their presence, stopped to talk togethera few yards away from them. On these occasions they would contrivepeepholes, and spy through them, and when cherries were in season Cadinetossed the stones in the faces of all the old women who passed along--apastime which amused them the more as the startled old crones couldnever make out whence the hail of cherry-stones had come. They alsoprowled about the depths of the cellars, knowing every gloomy corner ofthem, and contriving to get through the most carefully locked gates. Oneof their favourite amusements was to visit the track of the subterraneanrailway, which had been laid under the markets, and which those whoplanned the latter had intended to connect with the different goods'stations of Paris. Sections of this railway were laid beneath eachof the covered ways, between the cellars of each pavilion; the work, indeed, was in such an advanced state that turn-tables had been put intoposition at all the points of intersection, and were in readiness foruse. After much examination, Cadine and Marjolin had at last succeededin discovering a loose plank in the hoarding which enclosed the track, and they had managed to convert it into a door, by which they couldeasily gain access to the line. There they were quite shut off fromthe world, though they could hear the continuous rumbling of the streettraffic over their heads. 

The line stretched through deserted vaults, here and there illuminedby a glimmer of light filtering through iron gratings, while in certaindark corners gas jets were burning. And Cadine and Marjolin rambledabout as in the secret recesses of some castle of their own, secure fromall interruption, and rejoicing in the buzzy silence, the murky glimmer, and subterranean secrecy, which imparted a touch of melodrama to theirexperiences. All sorts of smells were wafted through the hoarding fromthe neighbouring cellars; the musty smell of vegetables, the pungency offish, the overpowering stench of cheese, and the warm reek of poultry. 

At other times, on clear nights and fine dawns, they would climb on tothe roofs, ascending thither by the steep staircases of the turretsat the angles of the pavilions. Up above they found fields of leads, endless promenades and squares, a stretch of undulating country whichbelonged to them. They rambled round the square roofs of the pavilions, followed the course of the long roofs of the covered ways, climbed anddescended the slopes, and lost themselves in endless perambulations ofdiscovery. And when they grew tired of the lower levels they ascendedstill higher, venturing up the iron ladders, on which Cadine's skirtsflapped like flags. Then they ran along the second tier of roofs beneaththe open heavens. There was nothing save the stars above them. All sortsof sounds rose up from the echoing markets, a clattering and rumbling, a vague roar as of a distant tempest heard at nighttime. At that heightthe morning breeze swept away the evil smells, the foul breath ofthe awaking markets. They would kiss one another on the edge of thegutterings like sparrows frisking on the house-tops. The rising firesof the sun illumined their faces with a ruddy glow. Cadine laughedwith pleasure at being so high up in the air, and her neck shone withiridescent tints like a dove's; while Marjolin bent down to look atthe street still wrapped in gloom, with his hands clutching hold ofthe leads like the feet of a wood-pigeon. When they descended to earthagain, joyful from their excursion in the fresh air, they would remarkto one another that they were coming back from the country. 

It was in the tripe market that they had made the acquaintance of ClaudeLantier. They went there every day, impelled thereto by an animal tastefor blood, the cruel instinct of urchins who find amusement in the sightof severed heads. A ruddy stream flowed along the gutters round thepavilion; they dipped the tips of their shoes in it, and dammed it upwith leaves, so as to form large pools of blood. They took a stronginterest in the arrival of the loads of offal in carts which alwayssmelt offensively, despite all the drenchings of water they got; theywatched the unloading of the bundles of sheep's trotters, which werepiled up on the ground like filthy paving-stones, of the huge stiffenedtongues, bleeding at their torn roots, and of the massive bell-shapedbullocks' hearts. But the spectacle which, above all others, madethem quiver with delight was that of the big dripping hampers, full ofsheep's heads, with greasy horns and black muzzles, and strips of woollyskin dangling from bleeding flesh. The sight of these conjured up intheir minds the idea of some guillotine casting into the baskets theheads of countless victims. 

They followed the baskets into the depths of the cellar, watching themglide down the rails laid over the steps, and listening to the raspingnoise which the casters of these osier waggons made in their descent. Down below there was a scene of exquisite horror. They entered into acharnel-house atmosphere, and walked along through murky puddles, amidstwhich every now and then purple eyes seem to be glistening. At timesthe soles of their boots stuck to the ground, at others they splashedthrough the horrible mire, anxious and yet delighted. The gas jetsburned low, like blinking, bloodshot eyes. Near the water-taps, in thepale light falling through the gratings, they came upon the blocks; andthere they remained in rapture watching the tripe men, who, in apronsstiffened by gory splashings, broke the sheep's heads one after anotherwith a blow of their mallets. They lingered there for hours, waitingtill all the baskets were empty, fascinated by the crackling of thebones, unable to tear themselves away till all was over. Sometimes anattendant passed behind them, cleansing the cellar with a hose; floodsof water rushed out with a sluice-like roar, but although the violenceof the discharge actually ate away the surface of the flagstones, it waspowerless to remove the ruddy stains and stench of blood. 

Cadine and Marjolin were sure of meeting Claude between four and five inthe afternoon at the wholesale auction of the bullocks' lights. Hewas always there amidst the tripe dealers' carts backed up against thekerb-stones and the blue-bloused, white-aproned men who jostled him anddeafened his ears by their loud bids. But he never felt their elbows; hestood in a sort of ecstatic trance before the huge hanging lights, andoften told Cadine and Marjolin that there was no finer sight to be seen. The lights were of a soft rosy hue, gradually deepening and turning atthe lower edges to a rich carmine; and Claude compared them to wateredsatin, finding no other term to describe the soft silkiness of thoseflowing lengths of flesh which drooped in broad folds like balletdancers' skirts. He thought, too, of gauze and lace allowing a glimpseof pinky skin; and when a ray of sunshine fell upon the lights andgirdled them with gold an expression of languorous rapture came into hiseyes, and he felt happier than if he had been privileged to contemplatethe Greek goddesses in their sovereign nudity, or the chatelaines ofromance in their brocaded robes. 

The artist became a great friend of the two young scapegraces. He lovedbeautiful animals, and such undoubtedly they were. For a long time hedreamt of a colossal picture which should represent the loves of Cadineand Marjolin in the central markets, amidst the vegetables, the fish, and the meat. He would have depicted them seated on some couch of food, their arms circling each other's waists, and their lips exchanging anidyllic kiss. In this conception he saw a manifesto proclaiming thepositivism of art--modern art, experimental and materialistic. And itseemed to him also that it would be a smart satire on the school whichwishes every painting to embody an "idea, " a slap for the old traditionsand all they represented. But during a couple of years he began studyafter study without succeeding in giving the particular "note" hedesired. In this way he spoilt fifteen canvases. His failure filled himwith rancour; however, he continued to associate with his two modelsfrom a sort of hopeless love for his abortive picture. When he met themprowling about in the afternoon, he often scoured the neighbourhoodwith them, strolling around with his hands in his pockets, and deeplyinterested in the life of the streets. 

They all three trudged along together, dragging their heels over thefootways and monopolising their whole breadth so as to force others tostep down into the road. With their noses in the air they sniffed in theodours of Paris, and could have recognised every corner blindfold by thespirituous emanations of the wine shops, the hot puffs that came fromthe bakehouses and confectioners', and the musty odours wafted from thefruiterers'. They would make the circuit of the whole district. Theydelighted in passing through the rotunda of the corn market, that hugemassive stone cage where sacks of flour were piled up on every side, andwhere their footsteps echoed in the silence of the resonant roof. Theywere fond, too, of the little narrow streets in the neighbourhood, whichhad become as deserted, as black, and as mournful as though they formedpart of an abandoned city. These were the Rue Babille, the Rue Sauval, the Rue des Deux Ecus, and the Rue de Viarmes, this last pallid from itsproximity to the millers' stores, and at four o'clock lively by reasonof the corn exchange held there. It was generally at this point thatthey started on their round. They made their way slowly along theRue Vauvilliers, glancing as they went at the windows of the loweating-houses, and thus reaching the miserably narrow Rue desProuvaires, where Claude blinked his eyes as he saw one of the coveredways of the market, at the far end of which, framed round by this hugeiron nave, appeared a side entrance of St. Eustache with its rose andits tiers of arched windows. And then, with an air of defiance, he wouldremark that all the middle ages and the Renaissance put together wereless mighty than the central markets. Afterwards, as they paced thebroad new streets, the Rue du Pont Neuf and the Rue des Halles, heexplained modern life with its wide footways, its lofty houses, and itsluxurious shops, to the two urchins. He predicted, too, the advent ofnew and truly original art, whose approach he could divine, and despairfilled him that its revelation should seemingly be beyond his ownpowers. 

Cadine and Marjolin, however, preferred the provincial quietness of theRue des Bourdonnais, where one can play at marbles without fear ofbeing run over. The girl perked her head affectedly as she passed thewholesale glove and hosiery stores, at each door of which bareheadedassistants, with their pens stuck in their ears, stood watching her witha weary gaze. And she and her lover had yet a stronger preference forsuch bits of olden Paris as still existed: the Rue de la Poterie and theRue de la Lingerie, with their butter and egg and cheese dealers; theRue de la Ferronerie and the Rue de l'Aiguillerie (the beautiful streetsof far-away times), with their dark narrow shops; and especially the RueCourtalon, a dank, dirty by-way running from the Place Sainte Opportuneto the Rue Saint Denis, and intersected by foul-smelling alleys wherethey had romped in their younger days. In the Rue Saint Denis theyentered into the land of dainties; and they smiled upon the driedapples, the "Spanishwood, " the prunes, and the sugar-candy in thewindows of the grocers and druggists. Their ramblings always set themdreaming of a feast of good things, and inspired them with a desire toglut themselves on the contents of the windows. To them the districtseemed like some huge table, always laid with an everlasting dessertinto which they longed to plunge their fingers. 

They devoted but a moment to visiting the other blocks of tumble-downold houses, the Rue Pirouette, the Rue de Mondetour, the Rue de laPetite Truanderie, and the Rue de la Grande Truanderie, for they tooklittle interest in the shops of the dealers in edible snails, cookedvegetables, tripe, and drink. In the Rue de la Grand Truanderie, however, there was a soap factory, an oasis of sweetness in the midst ofall the foul odours, and Marjolin was fond of standing outside it tillsome one happened to enter or come out, so that the perfume which sweptthrough the doorway might blow full in his face. Then with all speedthey returned to the Rue Pierre Lescot and the Rue Rambuteau. Cadine wasextremely fond of salted provisions; she stood in admiration before thebundles of red-herrings, the barrels of anchovies and capers, and thelittle casks of gherkins and olives, standing on end with wooden spoonsinside them. The smell of the vinegar titillated her throat; the pungentodour of the rolled cod, smoked salmon, bacon and ham, and the sharpacidity of the baskets of lemons, made her mouth water longingly. Shewas also fond of feasting her eyes on the boxes of sardines piled up inmetallic columns amidst the cases and sacks. In the Rue Montorgueiland the Rue Montmartre were other tempting-looking groceries andrestaurants, from whose basements appetising odours were wafted, withglorious shows of game and poultry, and preserved-provision shops, whichlast displayed beside their doors open kegs overflowing with yellowsourkrout suggestive of old lacework. Then they lingered in the RueCoquilliere, inhaling the odour of truffles from the premises of anotable dealer in comestibles, which threw so strong a perfume into thestreet that Cadine and Marjolin closed their eyes and imagined theywere swallowing all kinds of delicious things. These perfumes, however, distressed Claude. They made him realise the emptiness of his stomach, he said; and, leaving the "two animals" to feast on the odour ofthe truffles--the most penetrating odour to be found in all theneighbourhood--he went off again to the corn market by way of the RueOblin, studying on his road the old women who sold green-stuff inthe doorways and the displays of cheap pottery spread out on thefoot-pavements. 

Such were their rambles in common; but when Cadine set out alone withher bunches of violets she often went farther afield, making it a pointto visit certain shops for which she had a particular partiality. Shehad an especial weakness for the Taboureau bakery establishment, one ofthe windows of which was exclusively devoted to pastry. She would followthe Rue Turbigo and retrace her steps a dozen times in order to passagain and again before the almond cakes, the _savarins_, the St. Honoretarts, the fruit tarts, and the various dishes containing bunlike_babas_ redolent of rum, eclairs combining the finger biscuit withchocolate, and _choux a la crème_, little rounds of pastry overflowingwith whipped white of egg. The glass jars full of dry biscuits, macaroons, and _madeleines_ also made her mouth water; and the brightshop with its big mirrors, its marble slabs, its gilding, its bread-binsof ornamental ironwork, and its second window in which long glisteningloaves were displayed slantwise, with one end resting on a crystalshelf whilst above they were upheld by a brass rod, was so warm andodoriferous of baked dough that her features expanded with pleasurewhen, yielding to temptation, she went in to buy a _brioche_ for twosous. 

Another shop, one in front of the Square des Innocents, also filled herwith gluttonous inquisitiveness, a fever of longing desire. This shopmade a specialty of forcemeat pasties. In addition to the ordinary onesthere were pasties of pike and pasties of truffled _foie gras_; and thegirl would gaze yearningly at them, saying to herself that she wouldreally have to eat one some day. 

Cadine also had her moments of vanity and coquetry. When these fitswere on her, she bought herself in imagination some of the magnificentdresses displayed in the windows of the "Fabriques de France" whichmade the Pointe Saint Eustache gaudy with their pieces of bright stuffhanging from the first floor to the footway and flapping in the breeze. Somewhat incommoded by the flat basket hanging before her, amidst thecrowd of market women in dirty aprons gazing at future Sunday dresses, the girl would feel the woollens, flannels, and cottons to test thetexture and suppleness of the material; and she would promise herself agown of bright-coloured flannelling, flowered print, or scarlet poplin. Sometimes even from amongst the pieces draped and set off to advantageby the window-dressers she would choose some soft sky-blue orapple-green silk, and dream of wearing it with pink ribbons. In theevenings she would dazzle herself with the displays in the windows ofthe big jewellers in the Rue Montmartre. That terrible street deafenedher with its ceaseless flow of vehicles, and the streaming crowd neverceased to jostle her; still she did not stir, but remained feasting hereyes on the blazing splendour set out in the light of the reflectinglamps which hung outside the windows. On one side all was white with thebright glitter of silver: watches in rows, chains hanging, spoonsand forks laid crossways, cups, snuff-boxes, napkin-rings, and combsarranged on shelves. The silver thimbles, dotting a porcelain standcovered with a glass shade, had an especial attraction for her. Thenon the other side the windows glistened with the tawny glow of gold. Acascade of long pendant chains descended from above, rippling with ruddygleams; small ladies' watches, with the backs of their cases displayed, sparkled like fallen stars; wedding rings clustered round slender rods;bracelets, broaches, and other costly ornaments glittered on the blackvelvet linings of their cases; jewelled rings set their stands aglowwith blue, green, yellow, and violet flamelets; while on every tier ofthe shelves superposed rows of earrings and crosses and lockets hungagainst the crystal like the rich fringes of altar-cloths. The glow ofthis gold illumined the street half way across with a sun-like radiance. And Cadine, as she gazed at it, almost fancied that she was in presenceof something holy, or on the threshold of the Emperor's treasurechamber. She would for a long time scrutinise all this show of gaudyjewellery, adapted to the taste of the fish-wives, and carefully readthe large figures on the tickets affixed to each article; and eventuallyshe would select for herself a pair of earrings--pear-shaped drops ofimitation coral hanging from golden roses. 

One morning Claude caught her standing in ecstasy before ahair-dresser's window in the Rue Saint Honore. She was gazing at thedisplay of hair with an expression of intense envy. High up in thewindow was a streaming cascade of long manes, soft wisps, loose tresses, frizzy falls, undulating comb-curls, a perfect cataract of silky andbristling hair, real and artificial, now in coils of a flaming red, nowin thick black crops, now in pale golden locks, and even in snowy whiteones for the coquette of sixty. In cardboard boxes down below werecleverly arranged fringes, curling side-ringlets, and carefully combedchignons glossy with pomade. And amidst this framework, in a sort ofshrine beneath the ravelled ends of the hanging locks, there revolvedthe bust of a woman, arrayed in a wrapper of cherry-coloured satinfastened between the breasts with a brass brooch. The figure wore alofty bridal coiffure picked out with sprigs of orange blossom, andsmiled with a dollish smile. Its eyes were pale blue; its eyebrows werevery stiff and of exaggerated length; and its waxen cheeks and shouldersbore evident traces of the heat and smoke of the gas. Cadine waitedtill the revolving figure again displayed its smiling face, and as itsprofile showed more distinctly and it slowly went round from left toright she felt perfectly happy. Claude, however, was indignant, and, shaking Cadine, he asked her what she was doing in front of "thatabomination, that corpse-like hussy picked up at the Morgue!" He flewinto a temper with the "dummy's" cadaverous face and shoulders, thatdisfigurement of the beautiful, and remarked that artists paintednothing but that unreal type of woman nowadays. Cadine, however, remained unconvinced by his oratory, and considered the lady extremelybeautiful. Then, resisting the attempts of the artist to drag her awayby the arm, and scratching her black mop in vexation, she pointed to anenormous ruddy tail, severed from the quarters of some vigorous mare, and told him she would have liked to have a crop of hair like that. 

During the long rambles when Claude, Cadine, and Marjolin prowled aboutthe neighbourhood of the markets, they saw the iron ribs of the giantbuilding at the end of every street. Wherever they turned they caughtsudden glimpses of it; the horizon was always bounded by it; merely theaspect under which it was seen varied. Claude was perpetually turninground, and particularly in the Rue Montmartre, after passing the church. From that point the markets, seen obliquely in the distance, filled himwith enthusiasm. A huge arcade, a giant, gaping gateway, was open beforehim; then came the crowding pavilions with their lower and upper roofs, their countless Venetian shutters and endless blinds, a vision, as itwere, of superposed houses and palaces; a Babylon of metal of Hindoodelicacy of workmanship, intersected by hanging terraces, aerialgalleries, and flying bridges poised over space. The trio alwaysreturned to this city round which they strolled, unable to straymore than a hundred yards away. They came back to it during the hotafternoons when the Venetian shutters were closed and the blindslowered. In the covered ways all seemed to be asleep, the ashy greynesswas streaked by yellow bars of sunlight falling through the highwindows. Only a subdued murmur broke the silence; the steps of a fewhurrying passers-by resounded on the footways; whilst the badge-wearingporters sat in rows on the stone ledges at the corners of the pavilions, taking off their boots and nursing their aching feet. The quietudewas that of a colossus at rest, interrupted at times by some cock-crowrising from the cellars below. 

Claude, Cadine, and Marjolin then often went to see the empty hamperspiled upon the drays, which came to fetch them every afternoon so thatthey might be sent back to the consignors. There were mountains of them, labelled with black letters and figures, in front of the salesmen'swarehouses in the Rue Berger. The porters arranged them symmetrically, tier by tier, on the vehicles. When the pile rose, however, to theheight of a first floor, the porter who stood below balancing the nextbatch of hampers had to make a spring in order to toss them up to hismate, who was perched aloft with arms extended. Claude, who delightedin feats of strength and dexterity, would stand for hours watching theflight of these masses of osier, and would burst into a hearty laughwhenever too vigorous a toss sent them flying over the pile into theroadway beyond. He was fond, too, of the footways of the Rue Rambuteauand the Rue du Pont Neuf, near the fruit market, where the retaildealers congregated. The sight of the vegetables displayed in the openair, on trestle-tables covered with damp black rags, was full of charmfor him. At four in the afternoon the whole of this nook of greenery wasaglow with sunshine; and Claude wandered between the stalls, inspectingthe bright-coloured heads of the saleswomen with keen artistic relish. The younger ones, with their hair in nets, had already lost allfreshness of complexion through the rough life they led; while the olderones were bent and shrivelled, with wrinkled, flaring faces showingunder the yellow kerchiefs bound round their heads. Cadine and Marjolinrefused to accompany him hither, as they could perceive old MotherChantemesse shaking her fist at them, in her anger at seeing themprowling about together. He joined them again, however, on the oppositefootway, where he found a splendid subject for a picture in thestallkeepers squatting under their huge umbrellas of faded red, blue, and violet, which, mounted upon poles, filled the whole market-side withbumps, and showed conspicuously against the fiery glow of the sinkingsun, whose rays faded amidst the carrots and the turnips. One tatteredharridan, a century old, was sheltering three spare-looking lettucesbeneath an umbrella of pink silk, shockingly split and stained. 

Cadine and Marjolin had struck up an acquaintance with Leon, Quenu'sapprentice, one day when he was taking a pie to a house in theneighbourhood. They saw him cautiously raise the lid of his pan in asecluded corner of the Rue de Mondetour, and delicately take out a ballof forcemeat. They smiled at the sight, which gave them a very highopinion of Leon. And the idea came to Cadine that she might at lastsatisfy one of her most ardent longings. Indeed, the very next time thatshe met the lad with his basket she made herself very agreeable, andinduced him to offer her a forcemeat ball. But, although she laughed andlicked her fingers, she experienced some disappointment. The forcemeatdid not prove nearly so nice as she had anticipated. On the other hand, the lad, with his sly, greedy phiz and his white garments, which madehim look like a girl going to her first communion, somewhat took herfancy. 

She invited him to a monster lunch which she gave amongst the hampersin the auction room at the butter market. The three of them--herself, Marjolin, and Leon--completely secluded themselves from the world withinfour walls of osier. The feast was laid out on a large flat basket. There were pears, nuts, cream-cheese, shrimps, fried potatoes, and radishes. The cheese came from a fruiterer's in the Rue de laCossonnerie, and was a present; and a "frier" of the Rue de la GrandeTruanderie had given Cadine credit for two sous' worth of potatoes. Therest of the feast, the pears, the nuts, the shrimps, and the radishes, had been pilfered from different parts of the market. It was a delicioustreat; and Leon, desirous of returning the hospitality, gave a supperin his bedroom at one o'clock in the morning. The bill of fare includedcold black-pudding, slices of polony, a piece of salt pork, somegherkins, and some goose-fat. The Quenu-Gradelles' shop had providedeverything. And matters did not stop there. Dainty suppers alternatedwith delicate luncheons, and invitation upon invitation. Three times aweek there were banquets, either amidst the hampers or in Leon's garret, where Florent, on the nights when he lay awake, could hear a stifledsound of munching and rippling laughter until day began to break. 

The loves of Cadine and Marjolin now took another turn. The youth playedthe gallant, and just as another might entertain his _innamorata_ at achampagne supper _en tete a tete_ in a private room, he led Cadine intosome quiet corner of the market cellars to munch apples or sprigs ofcelery. One day he stole a red-herring, which they devoured with immenseenjoyment on the roof of the fish market beside the guttering. There wasnot a single shady nook in the whole place where they did not indulge insecret feasts. The district, with its rows of open shops full of fruitand cakes and preserves, was no longer a closed paradise, in front ofwhich they prowled with greedy, covetous appetites. As they passedthe shops they now extended their hands and pilfered a prune, a fewcherries, or a bit of cod. They also provisioned themselves at themarkets, keeping a sharp look-out as they made their way between thestalls, picking up everything that fell, and often assisting the fall bya push of their shoulders. 

In spite, however, of all the marauding, some terrible scores had to berun up with the "frier" of the Rue de la Grand Truanderie. This "frier, "whose shanty leaned against a tumble-down house, and was propped up byheavy joists, green with moss, made a display of boiled mussels lying inlarge earthenware bowls filled to the brim with clear water; of dishesof little yellow dabs stiffened by too thick a coating of paste; ofsquares of tripe simmering in a pan; and of grilled herrings, black andcharred, and so hard that if you tapped them they sounded like wood. Oncertain weeks Cadine owed the frier as much as twenty sous, a crushingdebt, which required the sale of an incalculable number of bunches ofviolets, for she could count upon no assistance from Marjolin. Moreover, she was bound to return Leon's hospitalities; and she even felt somelittle shame at never being able to offer him a scrap of meat. Hehimself had now taken to purloining entire hams. As a rule, he stowedeverything away under his shirt; and at night when he reached hisbedroom he drew from his bosom hunks of polony, slices of _pate de foiegras_, and bundles of pork rind. They had to do without bread, and therewas nothing to drink; but no matter. One night Marjolin saw Leon kissCadine between two mouthfuls; however, he only laughed. He could havesmashed the little fellow with a blow from his fist, but he felt nojealousy in respect of Cadine. He treated her simply as a comrade withwhom he had chummed for years. 

Claude never participated in these feasts. Having caught Cadine one daystealing a beet-root from a little hamper lined with hay, he had pulledher ears and given her a sound rating. These thieving propensities madeher perfect as a ne'er-do-well. However, in spite of himself, he couldnot help feeling a sort of admiration for these sensual, pilfering, greedy creatures, who preyed upon everything that lay about, feastingoff the crumbs that fell from the giant's table. 

At last Marjolin nominally took service under Gavard, happy in havingnothing to do except to listen to his master's flow of talk, whileCadine still continued to sell violets, quite accustomed by this time toold Mother Chantemesse's scoldings. They were still the same children asever, giving way to their instincts and appetites without the slightestshame--they were the growth of the slimy pavements of the marketdistrict, where, even in fine weather, the mud remains black and sticky. However, as Cadine walked along the footways, mechanically twisting herbunches of violets, she was sometimes disturbed by disquieting reveries;and Marjolin, too, suffered from an uneasiness which he could notexplain. He would occasionally leave the girl and miss some ramble orfeast in order to go and gaze at Madame Quenu through the windows of herpork shop. She was so handsome and plump and round that it did him goodto look at her. As he stood gazing at her, he felt full and satisfied, as though he had just eaten or drunk something extremely nice. And whenhe went off, a sort of hunger and thirst to see her again suddenly cameupon him. This had been going on for a couple of months. At first hehad looked at her with the respectful glance which he bestowed upon theshop-fronts of the grocers and provision dealers; but subsequently, whenhe and Cadine had taken to general pilfering, he began to regard hersmooth cheeks much as he regarded the barrels of olives and boxes ofdried apples. 

For some time past Marjolin had seen handsome Lisa every day, in themorning. She would pass Gavard's stall, and stop for a moment or two tochat with the poultry dealer. She now did her marketing herself, sothat she might be cheated as little as possible, she said. The truth, however, was that she wished to make Gavard speak out. In the pork shophe was always distrustful, but at his stall he chatted and talked withthe utmost freedom. Now, Lisa had made up her mind to ascertain from himexactly what took place in the little room at Monsieur Lebigre's; forshe had no great confidence in her secret police office, MademoiselleSaget. In a short time she learnt from the incorrigible chatterbox alot of vague details which very much alarmed her. Two days after herexplanation with Quenu she returned home from the market looking verypale. She beckoned to her husband to follow her into the dining-room, and having carefully closed the door she said to him: "Is your brotherdetermined to send us to the scaffold, then? Why did you conceal from mewhat you knew?"

Quenu declared that he knew nothing. He even swore a great oath that hehad not returned to Monsieur Lebigre's, and would never go there again. 

"You will do well not to do so, " replied Lisa, shrugging her shoulders, "unless you want to get yourself into a serious scrape. Florent is up tosome evil trick, I'm certain of it! I have just learned quite sufficientto show me where he is going. He's going back to Cayenne, do you hear?"

Then, after a pause, she continued in calmer ones: "Oh, the unhappy man!He had everything here that he could wish for. He might have redeemedhis character; he had nothing but good examples before him. But no, it is in his blood! He will come to a violent end with his politics! Iinsist upon there being an end to all this! You hear me, Quenu? I gaveyou due warning long ago!"

She spoke the last words very incisively. Quenu bent his head, as ifawaiting sentence. 

"To begin with, " continued Lisa, "he shall cease to take his meals here. It will be quite sufficient if we give him a bed. He is earning money;let him feed himself. "

Quenu seemed on the point of protesting, but his wife silenced him byadding energetically:

"Make your choice between him and me. If he remains here, I swear toyou that I will go away, and take my daughter with me. Do you want me totell you the whole truth about him? He is a man capable of anything; hehas come here to bring discord into our household. But I will set thingsright, you may depend on it. You have your choice between him and me;you hear me?"

Then, leaving her husband in silent consternation, she returned to theshop, where she served a customer with her usual affable smile. The factwas that, having artfully inveigled Gavard into a political discussion, the poultry dealer had told her that she would soon see how the landlay, that they were going to make a clean sweep of everything, and thattwo determined men like her brother-in-law and himself would suffice toset the fire blazing. This was the evil trick of which she had spokento Quenu, some conspiracy to which Gavard was always making mysteriousallusions with a sniggering grin from which he seemingly desired a greatdeal to be inferred. And in imagination Lisa already saw the gendarmesinvading the pork shop, gagging herself, her husband, and Pauline, andcasting them into some underground dungeon. 

In the evening, at dinner, she evinced an icy frigidity. She made nooffers to serve Florent, but several times remarked: "It's very strangewhat an amount of bread we've got through lately. "

Florent at last understood. He felt that he was being treated like apoor relation who is gradually turned out of doors. For the last twomonths Lisa had dressed him in Quenu's old trousers and coats; and, ashe was as thin as his brother was fat, these ragged garments had a mostextraordinary appearance upon him. She also turned her oldest linen overto him: pocket-handkerchiefs which had been darned a score of times, ragged towels, sheets which were only fit to be cut up into dusters anddish-cloths, and worn-out shirts, distended by Quenu's corpulentfigure, and so short that they would have served Florent as under-vests. Moreover, he no longer found around him the same good-natured kindlinessas in the earlier days. The whole household seemed to shrug itsshoulders after the example set by handsome Lisa. Auguste and Augustineturned their backs upon him, and little Pauline, with the cruelfrankness of childhood, let fall some bitter remarks about the stainson his coat and the holes in his shirt. However, during the last days hesuffered most at table. He scarcely dared to eat, as he saw the motherand daughter fix their gaze upon him whenever he cut himself a piece ofbread. Quenu meantime peered into his plate, to avoid having to take anypart in what went on. 

That which most tortured Florent was his inability to invent a reasonfor leaving the house. During a week he kept on revolving in his mind asentence expressing his resolve to take his meals elsewhere, but couldnot bring himself to utter it. Indeed, this man of tender nature livedin such a world of illusions that he feared he might hurt his brotherand sister-in-law by ceasing to lunch and dine with them. It had takenhim over two months to detect Lisa's latent hostility; and even now hewas sometimes inclined to think that he must be mistaken, and thatshe was in reality kindly disposed towards him. Unselfishness withhim extended to forgetfulness of his requirements; it was no longera virtue, but utter indifference to self, an absolute obliteration ofpersonality. Even when he recognised that he was being gradually turnedout of the house, his mind never for a moment dwelt upon his share inold Gradelle's fortune, or upon the accounts which Lisa had offered him. He had already planned out his expenditure for the future; reckoningthat with what Madame Verlaque still allowed him to retain of hissalary, and the thirty francs a month which a pupil, obtained throughLa Normande, paid him he would be able to spend eighteen sous on hisbreakfast and twenty-six sous on his dinner. This, he thought, would beample. And so, at last, taking as his excuse the lessons which he wasgiving his new pupil, he emboldened himself one morning to pretendthat it would be impossible for him in future to come to the houseat mealtimes. He blushed as he gave utterance to this laboriouslyconstructed lie, which had given him so much trouble, and continuedapologetically:

"You mustn't be offended; the boy only has those hours free. I caneasily get something to eat, you know; and I will come and have a chatwith you in the evenings. "

Beautiful Lisa maintained her icy reserve, and this increased Florent'sfeeling of trouble. In order to have no cause for self-reproach she hadbeen unwilling to send him about his business, preferring to wait tillhe should weary of the situation and go of his own accord. Now he wasgoing, and it was a good riddance; and she studiously refrained fromall show of kindliness for fear it might induce him to remain. Quenu, however, showed some signs of emotion, and exclaimed: "Don't think ofputting yourself about; take your meals elsewhere by all means, if itis more convenient. It isn't we who are turning you way; you'll at allevents dine with us sometimes on Sundays, eh?"

Florent hurried off. His heart was very heavy. When he had gone, thebeautiful Lisa did not venture to reproach her husband for his weaknessin giving that invitation for Sundays. She had conquered, and againbreathed freely amongst the light oak of her dining-room, where shewould have liked to burn some sugar to drive away the odour of perverseleanness which seemed to linger about. Moreover, she continued to remainon the defensive; and at the end of another week she felt more alarmedthan ever. She only occasionally saw Florent in the evenings, andbegan to have all sorts of dreadful thoughts, imagining that herbrother-in-law was constructing some infernal machine upstairs inAugustine's bedroom, or else making signals which would result inbarricades covering the whole neighbourhood. Gavard, who had becomegloomy, merely nodded or shook his head when she spoke to him, and lefthis stall for days together in Marjolin's charge. The beautiful Lisa, however, determined that she would get to the bottom of affairs. Sheknew that Florent had obtained a day's leave, and intended to spendit with Claude Lantier, at Madame Francois's, at Nanterre. As he wouldstart in the morning, and remain away till night, she conceived the ideaof inviting Gavard to dinner. He would be sure to talk freely, at table, she thought. But throughout the morning she was unable to meet thepoultry dealer, and so in the afternoon she went back again to themarkets. 

Marjolin was in the stall alone. He used to drowse there for hours, recouping himself from the fatigue of his long rambles. He generally satupon one chair with his legs resting upon another, and his head leaningagainst a little dresser. In the wintertime he took a keen delight inlolling there and contemplating the display of game; the bucks hanginghead downwards, with their fore-legs broken and twisted round theirnecks; the larks festooning the stall like garlands; the big ruddyhares, the mottled partridges, the water-fowl of a bronze-grey hue, theRussian black cocks and hazel hens, which arrived in a packing of oatstraw and charcoal;[*] and the pheasants, the magnificent pheasants, with their scarlet hoods, their stomachers of green satin, their mantlesof embossed gold, and their flaming tails, that trailed like trains ofcourt robes. All this show of plumage reminded Marjolin of his ramblesin the cellars with Cadine amongst the hampers of feathers. 

 [*] The baskets in which these are sent to Paris are identical with those which in many provinces of Russia serve the _moujiks_ as cradles for their infants. --Translator. 

That afternoon the beautiful Lisa found Marjolin in the midst of thepoultry. It was warm, and whiffs of hot air passed along the narrowalleys of the pavilion. She was obliged to stoop before she could seehim stretched out inside the stall, below the bare flesh of the birds. From the hooked bar up above hung fat geese, the hooks sticking in thebleeding wounds of their long stiffened necks, while their huge bodiesbulged out, glowing ruddily beneath their fine down, and, with theirsnowy tails and wings, suggesting nudity encompassed by fine linen. And also hanging from the bar, with ears thrown back and feet partedas though they were bent on some vigorous leap, were grey rabbits whoseturned-up tails gleamed whitely, whilst their heads, with sharp teethand dim eyes, laughed with the grin of death. On the counter of thestall plucked fowls showed their strained fleshy breasts; pigeons, crowded on osier trays, displayed the soft bare skin of innocents;ducks, with skin of rougher texture, exhibited their webbed feet; andthree magnificent turkeys, speckled with blue dots, like freshly-shavenchins, slumbered on their backs amidst the black fans of their expandedtails. On plates near by were giblets, livers, gizzards, necks, feet, and wings; while an oval dish contained a skinned and gutted rabbit, with its four legs wide apart, its head bleeding, and is kidneys showingthrough its gashed belly. A streamlet of dark blood, after tricklingalong its back to its tail, had fallen drop by drop, staining thewhiteness of the dish. Marjolin had not even taken the trouble to wipethe block, near which the rabbit's feet were still lying. He reclinedthere with his eyes half closed, encompassed by other piles of deadpoultry which crowded the shelves of the stall, poultry in paperwrappers like bouquets, rows upon rows of protuberant breasts and bentlegs showing confusedly. And amidst all this mass of food, the youngfellow's big, fair figure, the flesh of his cheeks, hands, and powerfulneck covered with ruddy down seemed as soft as that of the magnificentturkeys, and as plump as the breasts of the fat geese. 

When he caught sight of Lisa, he at once sprang up, blushing at havingbeen caught sprawling in this way. He always seemed very nervous and illat ease in Madame Quenu's presence; and when she asked him if MonsieurGavard was there, he stammered out: "No, I don't think so. He was here alittle while ago, but he want away again. "

Lisa looked at him, smiling; she had a great liking for him. But feelingsomething warm brush against her hand, which was hanging by her side, she raised a little shriek. Some live rabbits were thrusting their nosesout of a box under the counter of the stall, and sniffing at her skirts. 

"Oh, " she exclaimed with a laugh, "it's your rabbits that are ticklingme. "

Then she stooped and attempted to stroke a white rabbit, which darted inalarm into a corner of the box. 

"Will Monsieur Gavard be back soon, do you think?" she asked, as sheagain rose erect. 

Marjolin once more replied that he did not know; then in a hesitatingway he continued: "He's very likely gone down into the cellars. He toldme, I think, that he was going there. "

"Well, I think I'll wait for him, then, " replied Lisa. "Could you lethim know that I am here? or I might go down to him, perhaps. Yes, that'sa good idea; I've been intending to go and have a look at the cellarsfor these last five years. You'll take me down, won't you, and explainthings to me?"

Marjolin blushed crimson, and, hurrying out of the stall, walked on infront of her, leaving the poultry to look after itself. "Of course Iwill, " said he. "I'll do anything you wish, Madame Lisa. "

When they got down below, the beautiful Lisa felt quite suffocated bythe dank atmosphere of the cellar. She stood at the bottom step, andraised her eyes to look at the vaulted roofing of red and white bricksarching slightly between the iron ribs upheld by small columns. Whatmade her hesitate more than the gloominess of the place was a warm, penetrating odour, the exhalations of large numbers of living creatures, which irritated her nostrils and throat. 

"What a nasty smell!" she exclaimed. "It must be very unhealthy downhere. "

"It never does me any harm, " replied Marjolin in astonishment. "There'snothing unpleasant about the smell when you've got accustomed to it; andit's very warm and cosy down here in the wintertime. "

As Lisa followed him, however, she declared that the strong scent of thepoultry quite turned her stomach, and that she would certainly notbe able to eat a fowl for the next two months. All around her, thestorerooms, the small cabins where the stallkeepers keep their livestock, formed regular streets, intersecting each other at right angles. There were only a few scattered gas lights, and the little alleys seemedwrapped in sleep like the lanes of a village where the inhabitantshave all gone to bed. Marjolin made Lisa feel the close-meshed wiring, stretched on a framework of cast iron; and as she made her way along oneof the streets she amused herself by reading the names of the differenttenants, which were inscribed on blue labels. 

"Monsieur Gavard's place is quite at the far end, " said the young man, still walking on. 

They turned to the left, and found themselves in a sort of blind alley, a dark, gloomy spot where not a ray of light penetrated. Gavard was notthere. 

"Oh, it makes no difference, " said Marjolin. "I can show you our birdsjust the same. I have a key of the storeroom. "

Lisa followed him into the darkness. 

"You don't suppose that I can see your birds in this black oven, doyou?" she asked, laughing. 

Marjolin did not reply at once; but presently he stammered out thatthere was always a candle in the storeroom. He was fumbling about thelock, and seemed quite unable to find the keyhole. As Lisa came up tohelp him, she felt a hot breath on her neck; and when the young man hadat last succeeded in opening the door and lighted the candle, she sawthat he was trembling. 

"You silly fellow!" she exclaimed, "to get yourself into such a statejust because a door won't open! Why, you're no better than a girl, inspite of your big fists!"

She stepped inside the storeroom. Gavard had rented two compartments, which he had thrown into one by removing the partition between them. Inthe dirt on the floor wallowed the larger birds--the geese, turkeys, and ducks--while up above, on tiers of shelves, were boxes with barredfronts containing fowls and rabbits. The grating of the storeroom was socoated with dust and cobwebs that it looked as though covered with greyblinds. The woodwork down below was rotting, and covered with filth. Lisa, however, not wishing to vex Marjolin, refrained from any furtherexpression of disgust. She pushed her fingers between the bars of theboxes, and began to lament the fate of the unhappy fowls, which wereso closely huddled together and could not even stand upright. Then shestroked a duck with a broken leg which was squatting in a corner, andthe young man told her that it would be killed that very evening, forfear lest it should die during the night. 

"But what do they do for food?" asked Lisa. 

Thereupon he explained to her that poultry would not eat in the dark, and that it was necessary to light a candle and wait there till they hadfinished their meal. 

"It amuses me to watch them, " he continued; "I often stay here with alight for hours altogether. You should see how they peck away; and whenI hide the flame of the candle with my hand they all stand stock-stillwith their necks in the air, just as though the sun had set. It isagainst the rules to leave a lighted candle here and go away. One of thedealers, old Mother Palette--you know her, don't you?--nearly burned thewhole place down the other day. A fowl must have knocked the candle overinto the straw while she was away. "

"A pretty thing, isn't it, " said Lisa, "for fowls to insist upon havingthe chandeliers lighted up every time they take a meal?"

This idea made her laugh. Then she came out of the storeroom, wiping herfeet, and holding up her skirts to keep them from the filth. Marjolinblew out the candle and locked the door. Lisa felt rather nervous atfinding herself in the dark again with this big young fellow, and so shehastened on in front. 

"I'm glad I came, all the same, " she presently said, as he joined her. "There is a great deal more under these markets than I ever imagined. But I must make haste now and get home again. They'll wonder what hasbecome of me at the shop. If Monsieur Gavard comes back, tell him that Iwant to speak to him immediately. "

"I expect he's in the killing-room, " said Marjolin. "We'll go and see, if you like. "

Lisa made no reply. She felt oppressed by the close atmosphere whichwarmed her face. She was quite flushed, and her bodice, generally sostill and lifeless, began to heave. Moreover, the sound of Marjolin'shurrying steps behind her filled her with an uneasy feeling. At last shestepped aside, and let him go on in front. The lanes of this undergroundvillage were still fast asleep. Lisa noticed that her companion wastaking the longest way. When they came out in front of the railway trackhe told her that he had wished to show it to her; and they stood for amoment or two looking through the chinks in the hoarding of heavy beams. Then Marjolin proposed to take her on to the line; but she refused, saying that it was not worth while, as she could see things well enoughwhere she was. 

As they returned to the poultry cellars they found old Madame Palette infront of her storeroom, removing the cords of a large square hamper, inwhich a furious fluttering of wings and scraping of feet could be heard. As she unfastened the last knot the lid suddenly flew open, as thoughshot up by a spring, and some big geese thrust out their heads andnecks. Then, in wild alarm, they sprang from their prison and rushedaway, craning their necks, and filling the dark cellars with a frightfulnoise of hissing and clattering of beaks. Lisa could not help laughing, in spite of the lamentations of the old woman, who swore like a carteras she caught hold of two of the absconding birds and dragged them backby the neck. Marjolin, meantime, set off in pursuit of a third. Theycould hear him running along the narrow alleys, hunting for the runaway, and delighting in the chase. Then, far off in the distance, they heardthe sounds of a struggle, and presently Marjolin came back again, bringing the goose with him. Mother Palette, a sallow-faced old woman, took it in her arms and clasped it for a moment to her bosom, in theclassic attitude of Leda. 

"Well, well, I'm sure I don't know what I should have done if you hadn'tbeen here, " said she. "The other day I had a regular fight with one ofthe brutes; but I had my knife with me, and I cut its throat. "

Marjolin was quite out of breath. When they reached the stone blockswhere the poultry were killed, and where the gas burnt more brightly, Lisa could see that he was perspiring, and had bold, glistening eyes. She thought he looked very handsome like that, with his broad shoulders, big flushed face, and fair curly hair, and she looked at him socomplacently, with that air of admiration which women feel they maysafely express for quite young lads, that he relapsed into timidbashfulness again. 

"Well, Monsieur Gavard isn't here, you see, " she said. "You've only mademe waste my time. "

Marjolin, however, began rapidly explaining the killing of the poultryto her. Five huge stone slabs stretched out in the direction of the RueRambuteau under the yellow light of the gas jets. A woman was killingfowls at one end; and this led him to tell Lisa that the birds wereplucked almost before they were dead, the operation thus being mucheasier. Then he wanted her to feel the feathers which were lying inheaps on the stone slabs; and told her that they were sorted and soldfor as much as nine sous the pound, according to their quality. Tosatisfy him, she was also obliged to plunge her hand into the bighampers full of down. Then he turned the water-taps, of which there wasone by every pillar. There was no end to the particulars he gave. Theblood, he said, streamed along the stone blocks, and collected intopools on the paved floor, which attendants sluiced with water every twohours, removing the more recent stains with coarse brushes. 

When Lisa stooped over the drain which carries away the swillings, Marjolin found a fresh text for talk. On rainy days, said he, the watersometimes rose through this orifice and flooded the place. It hadonce risen a foot high; and they had been obliged to transport all thepoultry to the other end of the cellar, which is on a higher level. He laughed as he recalled the wild flutter of the terrified creatures. However, he had now finished, and it seemed as though there remainednothing else for him to show, when all at once he bethought himself ofthe ventilator. Thereupon he took Lisa off to the far end of the cellar, and told her to look up; and inside one of the turrets at the cornerangles of the pavilion she observed a sort of escape-pipe, by which thefoul atmosphere of the storerooms ascended into space. 

Here, in this corner, reeking with abominable odours, Marjolin'snostrils quivered, and his breath came and went violently. His longstroll with Lisa in these cellars, full of warm animal perfumes, hadgradually intoxicated him. 

She had again turned towards him. "Well, " said she, "it was very kind ofyou to show me all this, and when you come to the shop I will give yousomething. "

Whilst speaking she took hold of his soft chin, as she often did, without recognising that he was no longer a child; and perhaps sheallowed her hand to linger there a little longer than was her wont. Atall events, Marjolin, usually so bashful, was thrilled by the caress, and all at once he impetuously sprang forward, clasped Lisa by theshoulders, and pressed his lips to her soft cheeks. She raised nocry, but turned very pale at this sudden attack, which showed her howimprudent she had been. And then, freeing herself from the embrace, sheraised her arm, as she had seen men do in slaughter houses, clenchedher comely fist, and knocked Marjolin down with a single blow, plantedstraight between his eyes; and as he fell his head came into collisionwith one of the stone slabs, and was split open. Just at that moment thehoarse and prolonged crowing of a cock sounded through the gloom. 

Handsome Lisa, however, remained perfectly cool. Her lips were tightlycompressed, and her bosom had recovered its wonted immobility. Upabove she could hear the heavy rumbling of the markets, and through thevent-holes alongside the Rue Rambuteau the noise of the street trafficmade its way into the oppressive silence of the cellar. Lisa reflectedthat her own strong arm had saved her; and then, fearing lest someone should come and find her there, she hastened off, without giving aglance at Marjolin. As she climbed the steps, after passing through thegrated entrance of the cellars, the daylight brought her great relief. 

She returned to the shop, quite calm, and only looking a little pale. 

"You've been a long time, " Quenu said to her. 

"I can't find Gavard. I have looked for him everywhere, " she quietlyreplied. "We shall have to eat our leg of mutton without him. "

Then she filled the lard pot, which she noticed was empty; and cut somepork chops for her friend Madame Taboureau, who had sent her littleservant for them. The blows which she dealt with her cleaver remindedher of Marjolin. She felt that she had nothing to reproach herself with. She had acted like an honest woman. She was not going to disturb herpeace of mind; she was too happy to do anything to compromise herself. However, she glanced at Quenu, whose neck was coarse and ruddy, andwhose shaven chin looked as rough as knotted wood; whereas Marjolin'schin and neck resembled rosy satin. But then she must not think of himany more, for he was no longer a child. She regretted it, and could nothelp thinking that children grew up much too quickly. 

A slight flush came back to her cheeks, and Quenu considered that shelooked wonderfully blooming. He came and sat down beside her at thecounter for a moment or two. "You ought to go out oftener, " said he; "itdoes you good. We'll go to the theatre together one of these nights, ifyou like; to the Gaite, eh? Madame Taboureau has been to see the piecethey are playing there, and she declares it's splendid. "

Lisa smiled, and said they would see about it, and then once more shetook herself off. Quenu thought that it was too good of her to take somuch trouble in running about after that brute Gavard. In point of fact, however, she had simply gone upstairs to Florent's bedroom, the keyof which was hanging from a nail in the kitchen. She hoped to find outsomething or other by an inspection of this room, since the poultrydealer had failed her. She went slowly round it, examining the bed, themantelpiece, and every corner. The window with the little balcony wasopen, and the budding pomegranate was steeped in the golden beams of thesetting sun. The room looked to her as though Augustine had never leftit--had slept there only the night before. There seemed to be nothingmasculine about the place. She was quite surprised, for she had expectedto find some suspicious-looking chests, and coffers with strong locks. She went to feel Augustine's summer gown, which was still hangingagainst the wall. Then she sat down at the table, and began to read anunfinished page of manuscript, in which the word "revolution" occurredtwice. This alarmed her, and she opened the drawer, which she saw wasfull of papers. But her sense of honour awoke within her in presence ofthe secret which the rickety deal table so badly guarded. She remainedbending over the papers, trying to understand them without touchingthem, in a state of great emotion, when the shrill song of thechaffinch, on whose cage streamed a ray of sunshine, made her start. Sheclosed the drawer. It was a base thing that she had contemplated, shethought. 

Then, as she lingered by the window, reflecting that she ought to goand ask counsel of Abbe Roustan, who was a very sensible man, she saw acrowd of people round a stretcher in the market square below. The nightwas falling, still she distinctly recognised Cadine weeping in the midstof the crowd; while Florent and Claude, whose boots were white withdust, stood together talking earnestly at the edge of the footway. She hurried downstairs again, surprised to see them back so soon, andscarcely had she reached her counter when Mademoiselle Saget entered theshop. 

"They have found that scamp of a Marjolin in the cellar, with his headsplit open, " exclaimed the old maid. "Won't you come to see him, MadameQuenu?"

Lisa crossed the road to look at him. The young fellow was lying on hisback on the stretcher, looking very pale. His eyes were closed, anda stiff wisp of his fair hair was clotted with blood. The bystanders, however, declared that there was no serious harm done, and, besides, thescamp had only himself to blame, for he was always playing all sorts ofwild pranks in the cellars. It was generally supposed that he hadbeen trying to jump over one of the stone blocks--one of his favouriteamusements--and had fallen with his head against the slab. 

"I dare say that hussy there gave him a shove, " remarked MademoiselleSaget, pointing to Cadine, who was weeping. "They are always larkingtogether. "

Meantime the fresh air had restored Marjolin to consciousness, and heopened his eyes in wide astonishment. He looked round at everybody, andthen, observing Lisa bending over him, he gently smiled at her withan expression of mingled humility and affection. He seemed to haveforgotten all that had happened. Lisa, feeling relieved, said that heought to be taken to the hospital at once, and promised to go and seehim there, and take him some oranges and biscuits. However, Marjolin'shead had fallen back, and when the stretcher was carried away Cadinefollowed it, with her flat basket slung round her neck, and her hottears rolling down upon the bunches of violets in their mossy bed. Shecertainly had no thoughts for the flowers that she was thus scaldingwith her bitter grief. 

As Lisa went back to her shop, she heard Claude say, as he shook handswith Florent and parted from him: "Ah! the confounded young scamp! He'squite spoiled my day for me! Still, we had a very enjoyable time, didn'twe?"

Claude and Florent had returned both worried and happy, bringing withthem the pleasant freshness of the country air. Madame Francois haddisposed of all her vegetables that morning before daylight; and theyhad all three gone to the Golden Compasses, in the Rue Montorgueil, toget the cart. Here, in the middle of Paris, they found a foretaste ofthe country. Behind the Restaurant Philippe, with its frontage of giltwoodwork rising to the first floor, there was a yard like that of afarm, dirty, teeming with life, reeking with the odour of manureand straw. Bands of fowls were pecking at the soft ground. Sheds andstaircases and galleries of greeny wood clung to the old houses around, and at the far end, in a shanty of big beams, was Balthazar, harnessedto the cart, and eating the oats in his nosebag. He went down the RueMontorgueil at a slow trot, seemingly well pleased to return to Nanterreso soon. However, he was not going home without a load. Madame Francoishad a contract with the company which undertook the scavenging of themarkets, and twice a week she carried off with her a load of leaves, forked up from the mass of refuse which littered the square. It madeexcellent manure. In a few minutes the cart was filled to overflowing. Claude and Florent stretched themselves out on the deep bed of greenery;Madame Francois grasped her reins, and Balthazar went off at his slow, steady pace, his head somewhat bent by reason of there being so manypassengers to pull along. 

This excursion had been talked of for a long time past. Madame Francoislaughed cheerily. She was partial to the two men, and promised theman _omelette au lard_ as had never been eaten, said she, in "thatvillainous Paris. " Florent and Claude revelled in the thought of thisday of lounging idleness which as yet had scarcely begun to dawn. Nanterre seemed to be some distant paradise into which they wouldpresently enter. 

"Are you quite comfortable?" Madame Francois asked as the cart turnedinto the Rue du Pont Neuf. 

Claude declared that their couch was as soft as a bridal bed. Lying ontheir backs, with their hands crossed under their heads, both men werelooking up at the pale sky from which the stars were vanishing. Allalong the Rue de Rivoli they kept unbroken silence, waiting till theyshould have got clear of the houses, and listening to the worthy womanas she chattered to Balthazar: "Take your time, old man, " she said tohim in kindly tones. "We're in no hurry; we shall be sure to get thereat last. "

On reaching the Champs Elysees, when the artist saw nothing buttree-tops on either side of him, and the great green mass of theTuileries gardens in the distance, he woke up, as it were, and began totalk. When the cart had passed the end of the Rue du Roule he had caughta glimpse of the side entrance of Saint Eustache under the giant roofingof one of the market covered-ways. He was constantly referring to thisview of the church, and tried to give it a symbolical meaning. 

"It's an odd mixture, " he said, "that bit of church framed round by anavenue of cast iron. The one will kill the other; the iron will slaythe stone, and the time is not very far off. Do you believe in chance, Florent? For my part, I don't think that it was any mere chance ofposition that set a rose-window of Saint Eustache right in the middle ofthe central markets. No; there's a whole manifesto in it. It is modernart, realism, naturalism--whatever you like to call it--that has grownup and dominates ancient art. Don't you agree with me?"

Then, as Florent still kept silence, Claude continued: "Besides, thatchurch is a piece of bastard architecture, made up of the dying gasp ofthe middle ages, and the first stammering of the Renaissance. Have younoticed what sort of churches are built nowadays? They resemble allkinds of things--libraries, observatories, pigeon-cotes, barracks; andsurely no one can imagine that the Deity dwells in such places. Thepious old builders are all dead and gone; and it would be better tocease erecting those hideous carcasses of stone, in which we have nobelief to enshrine. Since the beginning of the century there has onlybeen one large original pile of buildings erected in Paris--a pile inaccordance with modern developments--and that's the central markets. Youhear me, Florent? Ah! they are a fine bit of building, though they butfaintly indicate what we shall see in the twentieth century! And so, yousee, Saint Eustache is done for! It stands there with its rose-windows, deserted by worshippers, while the markets spread out by its side andteem with noisy life. Yes! that's how I understand it all, my friend. "

"Ah! Monsieur Claude, " said Madame Francois, laughing, "the woman whocut your tongue-string certainly earned her money. Look at Balthazarlaying his ears back to listen to you. Come, come, get along, Balthazar!"

The cart was slowly making its way up the incline. At this early hour ofthe morning the avenue, with its double lines of iron chairs on eitherpathway, and its lawns, dotted with flowerbeds and clumps of shrubbery, stretching away under the blue shadows of the trees, was quite deserted;however, at the Rond-Point a lady and gentleman on horseback passed thecart at a gentle trot. Florent, who had made himself a pillow witha bundle of cabbage-leaves, was still gazing at the sky, in which afar-stretching rosy glow was appearing. Every now and then he wouldclose his eyes, the better to enjoy the fresh breeze of the morningas it fanned his face. He was so happy to escape from the markets, andtravel on through the pure air, that he remained speechless, and did noteven listen to what was being said around him. 

"And then, too, what fine jokers are those fellows who imprison art in atoy-box!" resumed Claude, after a pause. "They are always repeating thesame idiotic words: 'You can't create art out of science, ' says one;'Mechanical appliances kill poetry, ' says another; and a pack of foolswail over the fate of the flowers, as though anybody wished the flowersany harm! I'm sick of all such twaddle; I should like to answer all thatsnivelling with some work of open defiance. I should take a pleasure inshocking those good people. Shall I tell you what was the finest thingI ever produced since I first began to work, and the one which I recallwith the greatest pleasure? It's quite a story. When I was at myAunt Lisa's on Christmas Eve last year that idiot of an Auguste, theassistant, was setting out the shop-window. Well, he quite irritatedme by the weak, spiritless way in which he arranged the display; and atlast I requested him to take himself off, saying that I would groupthe things myself in a proper manner. You see, I had plenty of brightcolours to work with--the red of the tongues, the yellow of the hams, the blue of the paper shavings, the rosy pink of the things that hadbeen cut into, the green of the sprigs of heath, and the black of theblack-puddings--ah! a magnificent black, which I have never managed toproduce on my palette. And naturally, the _crepine_, the small sausages, the chitterlings, and the crumbed trotters provided me with delicategreys and browns. I produced a perfect work of art. I took the dishes, the plates, the pans, and the jars, and arranged the different colours;and I devised a wonderful picture of still life, with subtle scales oftints leading up to brilliant flashes of colour. The red tongues seemedto thrust themselves out like greedy flames, and the black-puddings, surrounded by pale sausages, suggested a dark night fraught withterrible indigestion. I had produced, you see, a picture symbolical ofthe gluttony of Christmas Eve, when people meet and sup--the midnightfeasting, the ravenous gorging of stomachs void and faint after all thesinging of hymns. [*] At the top of everything a huge turkey exhibitedits white breast, marbled blackly by the truffles showing through itsskin. It was something barbaric and superb, suggesting a paunch amidsta halo of glory; but there was such a cutting, sarcastic touch about itall that people crowded to the window, alarmed by the fierce flare ofthe shop-front. When my aunt Lisa came back from the kitchen she wasquite frightened, and thought I'd set the fat in the shop on fire;and she considered the appearance of the turkey so indelicate that sheturned me out of the place while Auguste re-arranged the window afterhis own idiotic fashion. Such brutes will never understand the languageof a red splotch by the side of a grey one. Ah, well! that was mymasterpiece. I have never done anything better. "

 [*] An allusion to the "midnight mass" usually celebrated in Roman Catholic churches on Christmas Eve. --Translator. 

He relapsed into silence, smiling and dwelling with gratification onthis reminiscence. The cart had now reached the Arc de Triomphe, andstrong currents of air swept from the avenues across the expanse of openground. Florent sat up, and inhaled with zest the first odours of grasswafted from the fortifications. He turned his back on Paris, anxiousto behold the country in the distance. At the corner of the Rue deLongchamp, Madame Francois pointed out to him the spot where she hadpicked him up. This rendered him thoughtful, and he gazed at her asshe sat there, so healthy-looking and serene, with her arms slightlyextended so as to grasp the reins. She looked even handsomer than Lisa, with her neckerchief tied over her head, her robust glow of health, andher brusque, kindly air. When she gave a slight cluck with her tongue, Balthazar pricked up his ears and rattled down the road at a quickerpace. 

On arriving at Nanterre, the cart turned to the left into a narrow lane, skirted some blank walls, and finally came to a standstill at the end ofa sort of blind alley. It was the end of the world, Madame Francois usedto say. The load of vegetable leaves now had to be discharged. Claudeand Florent would not hear of the journeyman gardener, who was plantinglettuces, leaving his work, but armed themselves with pitchforks andproceeded to toss the leaves into the manure pit. This occupationafforded them much amusement. Claude had quite a liking for manure, since it symbolises the world and its life. The strippings and paringsof the vegetables, the scourings of the markets, the refuse that fellfrom that colossal table, remained full of life, and returned to thespot where the vegetables had previously sprouted, to warm and nourishfresh generations of cabbages, turnips, and carrots. They rose againin fertile crops, and once more went to spread themselves out upon themarket square. Paris rotted everything, and returned everything to thesoil, which never wearied of repairing the ravages of death. 

"Ah!" exclaimed Claude, as he plied his fork for the last time, "here'sa cabbage-stalk that I'm sure I recognise. It has grown up at least halfa score of times in that corner yonder by the apricot tree. "

This remark made Florent laugh. But he soon became grave again, andstrolled slowly through the kitchen garden, while Claude made a sketchof the stable, and Madame Francois got breakfast ready. The kitchengarden was a long strip of ground, divided in the middle by a narrowpath; it rose slightly, and at the top end, on raising the head, youcould perceive the low barracks of Mont Valerien. Green hedges separatedit from other plots of land, and these lofty walls of hawthorn fringedthe horizon with a curtain of greenery in such wise that of all thesurrounding country Mont Valerien alone seemed to rise inquisitivelyon tip-toe in order to peer into Madame Francois's close. Greatpeacefulness came from the countryside which could not be seen. Alongthe kitchen garden, between the four hedges, the May sun shone witha languid heat, a silence disturbed only by the buzzing of insects, a somnolence suggestive of painless parturition. Every now and then afaint cracking sound, a soft sigh, made one fancy that one could hearthe vegetables sprout into being. The patches of spinach and sorrel, the borders of radishes, carrots, and turnips, the beds of potatoesand cabbages, spread out in even regularity, displaying their darkleaf-mould between their tufts of greenery. Farther away, the trenchedlettuces, onions, leeks, and celery, planted by line in long straightrows, looked like soldiers on parade; while the peas and beans werebeginning to twine their slender tendrils round a forest of sticks, which, when June came, they would transform into a thick and verdantwood. There was not a weed to be seen. The garden resembled two parallelstrips of carpet of a geometrical pattern of green on a reddish ground, which were carefully swept every morning. Borders of thyme grew likegreyish fringe along each side of the pathway. 

Florent paced backwards and forwards amidst the perfume of the thyme, which the sun was warming. He felt profoundly happy in the peacefulnessand cleanliness of the garden. For nearly a year past he had only seenvegetables bruised and crushed by the jolting of the market-carts;vegetables torn up on the previous evening, and still bleeding. Herejoiced to find them at home, in peace in the dark mould, and sound inevery part. The cabbages had a bulky, prosperous appearance; the carrotslooked bright and gay; and the lettuces lounged in line with an air ofcareless indolence. And as he looked at them all, the markets which hehad left behind him that morning seemed to him like a vast mortuary, an abode of death, where only corpses could be found, a charnel-housereeking with foul smells and putrefaction. He slackened his steps, andrested in that kitchen garden, as after a long perambulation amidstdeafening noises and repulsive odours. The uproar and the sickeninghumidity of the fish market had departed from him; and he felt as thoughhe were being born anew in the pure fresh air. Claude was right, hethought. The markets were a sphere of death. The soil was the life, theeternal cradle, the health of the world. 

"The omelet's ready!" suddenly cried Madame Francois. 

When they were all three seated round the table in the kitchen, withthe door thrown open to the sunshine, they ate their breakfast withsuch light-hearted gaiety that Madame Francois looked at Florent inamazement, repeating between each mouthful: "You're quite altered. You're ten years younger. It is that villainous Paris which makes youseem so gloomy. You've got a little sunshine in your eyes now. Ah! thosebig towns do one's health no good, you ought to come and live here. "

Claude laughed, and retorted that Paris was a glorious place. He stuckup for it and all that belonged to it, even to its gutters; though atthe same time retaining a keen affection for the country. 

In the afternoon Madame Francois and Florent found themselves aloneat the end of the garden, in a corner planted with a few fruit trees. Seated on the ground, they talked somewhat seriously together. The goodwoman advised Florent with an affectionate and quite maternal kindness. She asked him endless questions about his life, and his intentions forthe future, and begged him to remember that he might always countupon her, if ever he thought that she could in the slightest degreecontribute to his happiness. Florent was deeply touched. No woman hadever spoken to him in that way before. Madame Francois seemed to himlike some healthy, robust plant that had grown up with the vegetablesin the leaf-mould of the garden; while the Lisas, the Normans, andother pretty women of the markets appeared to him like flesh of doubtfulfreshness decked out for exhibition. He here enjoyed several hours ofperfect well-being, delivered from all that reek of food which sickenedhim in the markets, and reviving to new life amidst the fertileatmosphere of the country, like that cabbage stalk which Claude declaredhe had seen sprout up more than half a score of times. 

The two men took leave of Madame Francois at about five o'clock. Theyhad decided to walk back to Paris; and the market gardener accompaniedthem into the lane. As she bade good-bye to Florent, she kept his handin her own for a moment, and said gently: "If ever anything happens totrouble you, remember to come to me. "

For a quarter of an hour Florent walked on without speaking, alreadygetting gloomy again, and reflecting that he was leaving health behindhim. The road to Courbevoie was white with dust. However, both men werefond of long walks and the ringing of stout boots on the hard ground. Little clouds of dust rose up behind their heels at every step, while the rays of the sinking sun darted obliquely over the avenue, lengthening their shadows in such wise that their heads reached theother side of the road, and journeyed along the opposite footway. 

Claude, swinging his arms, and taking long, regular strides, complacently watched these two shadows, whilst enjoying the rhythmicalcadence of his steps, which he accentuated by a motion of his shoulders. Presently, however, as though just awaking from a dream, he exclaimed:"Do you know the 'Battle of the Fat and the Thin'?"

Florent, surprised by the question, replied in the negative; andthereupon Claude waxed enthusiastic, talking of that series of printsin very eulogical fashion. He mentioned certain incidents: the Fat, soswollen that they almost burst, preparing their evening debauch, whilethe Thin, bent double by fasting, looked in from the street with theappearance of envious laths; and then, again, the Fat, with hangingcheeks, driving off one of the Thin, who had been audacious enough tointroduce himself into their midst in lowly humility, and who lookedlike a ninepin amongst a population of balls. 

In these designs Claude detected the entire drama of human life, and heended by classifying men into Fat and Thin, two hostile groups, one ofwhich devours the other, and grows fat and sleek and enjoys itself. 

"Cain, " said he, "was certainly one of the Fat, and Abel one of theThin. Ever since that first murder, there have been rampant appetiteswhich have drained the life-blood of small eaters. It's a continualpreying of the stronger upon the weaker; each swallowing his neighbour, and then getting swallowed in his turn. Beware of the Fat, my friend. "

He relapsed into silence for a moment, still watching their two shadows, which the setting sun elongated more than ever. Then he murmured: "Yousee, we belong to the Thin--you and I. Those who are no more corpulentthan we are don't take up much room in the sunlight, eh?"

Florent glanced at the two shadows, and smiled. But Claude waxed angry, and exclaimed: "You make a mistake if you think it is a laughing matter. For my own part, I greatly suffer from being one of the Thin. If I wereone of the Fat, I could paint at my ease; I should have a fine studio, and sell my pictures for their weight in gold. But, instead of that, I'm one of the Thin; and I have to grind my life out in producing thingswhich simply make the Fat ones shrug their shoulders. I shall die of itall in the end, I'm sure of it, with my skin clinging to my bones, andso flattened that they will be able to bury me between two leaves of abook. And you, too, you are one of the Thin, a wonderful one; the veryking of Thin, in fact! Do you remember your quarrel with the fish-wives?It was magnificent; all those colossal bosoms flying at your scraggybreast! Oh! they were simply acting from natural instinct; they werepursuing one of the Thin just as cats pursue a mouse. The Fat, you know, have an instinctive hatred of the Thin, to such an extent that they mustneeds drive the latter from their sight, either by means of their teethor their feet. And that is why, if I were in your place, I should takemy precautions. The Quenus belong to the Fat, and so do the Mehudins;indeed, you have none but Fat ones around you. I should feel uneasyunder such circumstances. "

"And what about Gavard, and Mademoiselle Saget, and your friendMarjolin?" asked Florent, still smiling. 

"Oh, if you like, I will classify all our acquaintances for you, "replied Claude. "I've had their heads in a portfolio in my studio for along time past, with memoranda of the order to which they belong. Gavardis one of the Fat, but of the kind which pretends to belong to theThin. The variety is by no means uncommon. Mademoiselle Saget andMadame Lecoeur belong to the Thin, but to a variety which is much to befeared--the Thin ones whom envy drives to despair, and who are capableof anything in their craving to fatten themselves. My friend Marjolin, little Cadine, and La Sarriette are three Fat ones, still innocent, however, and having nothing but the guileless hunger of youth. I mayremark that the Fat, so long as they've not grown old, are charmingcreatures. Monsieur Lebigre is one of the Fat--don't you think so? Asfor your political friends, Charvet, Clemence, Logre, and Lacaille, theymostly belong to the Thin. I only except that big animal Alexandre, andthat prodigy Robine, who has caused me a vast amount of annoyance. "

The artist continued to talk in this strain from the Pont de Neuilly tothe Arc de Triomphe. He returned to some of those whom he had alreadymentioned, and completed their portraits with a few characteristictouches. Logre, he said, was one of the Thin whose belly had been placedbetween his shoulders. Beautiful Lisa was all stomach, and the beautifulNorman all bosom. Mademoiselle Saget, in her earlier life, must havecertainly lost some opportunity to fatten herself, for she detested theFat, while, at the same time, she despised the Thin. As for Gavard, he was compromising his position as one of the Fat, and would end bybecoming as flat as a bug. 

"And what about Madame Francois?" Florent asked. 

Claude seemed much embarrassed by this question. He cast about for ananswer, and at last stammered:

"Madame Francois, Madame Francois--well, no, I really don't know; Inever thought about classifying her. But she's a dear good soul, andthat's quite sufficient. She's neither one of the Fat nor one of theThin!"

They both laughed. They were now in front of the Arc de Triomphe. Thesun, over by the hills of Suresnes, was so low on the horizon that theircolossal shadows streaked the whiteness of the great structure evenabove the huge groups of statuary, like strokes made with a piece ofcharcoal. This increased Claude's merriment, he waved his arms and benthis body; and then, as he started on his way again, he said; "Did younotice--just as the sun set our two heads shot up to the sky!"

But Florent no longer smiled. Paris was grasping him again, that Pariswhich now frightened him so much, after having cost him so many tears atCayenne. When he reached the markets night was falling, and there wasa suffocating smell. He bent his head as he once more returned tothe nightmare of endless food, whilst preserving the sweet yet sadrecollection of that day of bright health odorous with the perfume ofthyme. 

CHAPTER V

At about four o'clock on the afternoon of the following day Lisa betookherself to Saint Eustache. For the short walk across the square she hadarrayed herself very seriously in a black silk gown and thick woollenshawl. The handsome Norman, who, from her stall in the fish market, watched her till she vanished into the church porch, was quite amazed. 

"Hallo! So the fat thing's gone in for priests now, has she?" sheexclaimed, with a sneer. "Well, a little holy water may do her good!"

She was mistaken in her surmises, however, for Lisa was not a devotee. She did not observe the ordinances of the Church, but said that shedid her best to lead an honest life, and that this was all that wasnecessary. At the same time, however, she disliked to hear religionspoken ill of, and often silenced Gavard, who delighted in scandalousstories of priests and their doings. Talk of that sort seemed to heraltogether improper. Everyone, in her opinion, should be allowed tobelieve as they pleased, and every scruple should be respected. Besides, the majority of the clergy were most estimable men. She knew AbbeRoustan, of Saint Eustache--a distinguished priest, a man of shrewdsense, and one, she thought, whose friendship might be safely reliedupon. And she would wind up by explaining that religion was absolutelynecessary for the people; she looked upon it as a sort of police forcethat helped to maintain order, and without which no government would bepossible. When Gavard went too far on this subject and asserted that thepriests ought to be turned into the streets and have their shops shutup, Lisa, shrugged her shoulders and replied: "A great deal of good thatwould do! Why, before a month was over the people would be murderingone another in the streets, and you would be compelled to invent anotherGod. That was just what happened in '93. You know very well that I'm notgiven to mixing with the priests, but for all that I say that they arenecessary, as we couldn't do without them. "

And so when Lisa happened to enter a church she always manifestedthe utmost decorum. She had bought a handsome missal, which she neveropened, for use when she was invited to a funeral or a wedding. Sheknelt and rose at the proper times, and made a point of conductingherself with all propriety. She assumed, indeed, what she considered asort of official demeanour, such as all well-to-do folks, tradespeople, and house-owners ought to observe with regard to religion. 

As she entered Saint Eustache that afternoon she let the double doors, covered with green baize, faded and worn by the frequent touch of pioushands, close gently behind her. Then she dipped her fingers in the holywater and crossed herself in the correct fashion. And afterwards, withhushed footsteps, she made her way to the chapel of Saint Agnes, wheretwo kneeling women with their faces buried in their hands were waiting, whilst the blue skirts of a third protruded from the confessional. Lisaseemed rather put out by the sight of these women, and, addressing averger who happened to pass along, wearing a black skullcap anddragging his feet over the slabs, she inquired: "Is this Monsieur l'AbbeRoustan's day for hearing confessions?"

The verger replied that his reverence had only two more penitentswaiting, and that they would not detain him long, so that if Lisa wouldtake a chair her turn would speedily come. She thanked him, withouttelling him that she had not come to confess; and, making up her mind towait, she began to pace the church, going as far as the chief entrance, whence she gazed at the lofty, severe, bare nave stretching between thebrightly coloured aisles. Raising her head a little, she examined thehigh altar, which she considered too plain, having no taste for the coldgrandeur of stonework, but preferring the gilding and gaudy colouring ofthe side chapels. Those on the side of the Rue du Jour looked greyish inthe light which filtered through their dusty windows, but on the sideof the markets the sunset was lighting up the stained glass with lovelytints, limpid greens and yellows in particular, which reminded Lisa ofthe bottle of liqueurs in front of Monsieur Lebigre's mirror. She cameback by this side, which seemed to be warmed by the glow of light, and took a passing interest in the reliquaries, altar ornaments, andpaintings steeped in prismatic reflections. The church was empty, quivering with the silence that fell from its vaulted roofing. Here andthere a woman's dress showed like a dark splotch amidst the vague yellowof the chairs; and a low buzzing came from the closed confessionals. AsLisa again passed the chapel of Saint Agnes she saw the blue dress stillkneeling at Abbe Roustan's feet. 

"Why, if I'd wanted to confess I could have said everything in tenseconds, " she thought, proud of her irreproachable integrity. 

Then she went on to the end of the church. Behind the high altar, in thegloom of a double row of pillars, is the chapel of the Blessed Virgin, damp and dark and silent. The dim stained windows only show the flowingcrimson and violet robes of saints, which blaze like flames of mysticlove in the solemn, silent adoration of the darkness. It is a weird, mysterious spot, like some crepuscular nook of paradise solely illuminedby the gleaming stars of two tapers. The four brass lamps hanging fromthe roof remain unlighted, and are but faintly seen; on espying them youthink of the golden censers which the angels swing before the throne ofMary. And kneeling on the chairs between the pillars there are alwayswomen surrendering themselves languorously to the dim spot's voluptuouscharm. 

Lisa stood and gazed tranquilly around her. She did not feel the leastemotion, but considered that it was a mistake not to light the lamps. Their brightness would have given the place a more cheerful look. Thegloom even struck her as savouring of impropriety. Her face was warmedby the flames of some candles burning in a candelabrum by her side, andan old woman armed with a big knife was scraping off the wax which hadtrickled down and congealed into pale tears. And amidst the quiveringsilence, the mute ecstasy of adoration prevailing in the chapel, Lisawould distinctly hear the rumbling of the vehicles turning out of theRue Montmartre, behind the scarlet and purple saints on the windows, whilst in the distance the markets roared without a moment's pause. 

Just as Lisa was leaving the chapel, she saw the younger of theMehudins, Claire, the dealer in fresh water fish, come in. The girllighted a taper at the candelabrum, and then went to kneel behind apillar, her knees pressed upon the hard stones, and her face so palebeneath her loose fair hair that she seemed a corpse. And believingherself to be securely screened from observation, she gave way toviolent emotion, and wept hot tears with a passionate outpouring ofprayer which bent her like a rushing wind. Lisa looked on in amazement, for the Mehudins were not known to be particularly pious; indeed, Clairewas accustomed to speak of religion and priests in such terms as tohorrify one. 

"What's the meaning of this, I wonder?" pondered Lisa, as she againmade her way to the chapel of Saint Agnes. "The hussy must have beenpoisoning some one or other. "

Abbe Roustan was at last coming out of his confessional. He was ahandsome man, of some forty years of age, with a smiling, kindly air. When he recognised Madame Quenu he grasped her hand, called her "dearlady, " and conducted her to the vestry, where, taking off his surplice, he told her that he would be entirely at her service in a moment. Theyreturned, the priest in his cassock, bareheaded, and Lisa struttingalong in her shawl, and paced up and down in front of the side-chapelsadjacent to the Rue du Jour. They conversed together in low tones. Thesunlight was departing from the stained windows, the church was growingdark, and the retreating footsteps of the last worshippers sounded butfaintly over the flagstones. 

Lisa explained her doubts and scruples to Abbe Roustan. There had neverbeen any question of religion between them; she never confessed, butmerely consulted him in cases of difficulty, because he was shrewdand discreet, and she preferred him, as she sometimes said, to shadybusiness men redolent of the galleys. The abbe, on his side, manifestedinexhaustible complaisance. He looked up points of law for her inthe Code, pointed out profitable investments, resolved her moraldifficulties with great tact, recommended tradespeople to her, invariably having an answer ready however diverse and complicatedher requirements might be. And he supplied all this help in a naturalmatter-of-fact way, without ever introducing the Deity into his talk, or seeking to obtain any advantage either for himself or the cause ofreligion. A word of thanks and a smile sufficed him. He seemed glad tohave an opportunity of obliging the handsome Madame Quenu, of whom hishousekeeper often spoke to him in terms of praise, as of a woman who washighly respected in the neighbourhood. 

Their consultation that afternoon was of a peculiarly delicate nature. Lisa was anxious to know what steps she might legitimately take, as awoman of honour, with respect to her brother-in-law. Had she a rightto keep a watch upon him, and to do what she could to prevent him fromcompromising her husband, her daughter, and herself? And then how farmight she go in circumstances of pressing danger? She did not bluntlyput these questions to the abbe, but asked them with such skilfulcircumlocutions that he was able to discuss the matter without enteringinto personalities. He brought forward arguments on both sides of thequestion, but the conclusion he came to was that a person of integritywas entitled, indeed bound, to prevent evil, and was justified in usingwhatever means might be necessary to ensure the triumph of that whichwas right and proper. 

"That is my opinion, dear lady, " he said in conclusion. "The questionof means is always a very grave one. It is a snare in which soulsof average virtue often become entangled. But I know your scrupulousconscience. Deliberate carefully over each step you think of taking, andif it contains nothing repugnant to you, go on boldly. Pure natures havethe marvelous gift of purifying all that they touch. "

Then, changing his tone of voice, he continued: "Pray give my kindregards to Monsieur Quenu. I'll come in to kiss my dear little Paulinesome time when I'm passing. And now good-bye, dear lady; remember thatI'm always at your service. "

Thereupon he returned to the vestry. Lisa, on her way out, was curiousto see if Claire was still praying, but the girl had gone back toher eels and carp; and in front of the Lady-chapel, which was alreadyshrouded in darkness, there was now but a litter of chairs overturned bythe ardent vehemence of the woman who had knelt there. 

When the handsome Lisa again crossed the square, La Normande, whohad been watching for her exit from the church, recognised her in thetwilight by the rotundity of her skirts. 

"Good gracious!" she exclaimed, "she's been more than an hour in there!When the priests set about cleansing her of her sins, the choir-boyshave to form in line to pass the buckets of filth and empty them in thestreet!"

The next morning Lisa went straight up to Florent's bedroom and settledherself there with perfect equanimity. She felt certain that she wouldnot be disturbed, and, moreover, she had made up her mind to tell afalsehood and say that she had come to see if the linen was clean, should Florent by any chance return. Whilst in the shop, however, shehad observed him busily engaged in the fish market. Seating herself infront of the little table, she pulled out the drawer, placed it upon herknees, and began to examine its contents, taking the greatest care torestore them to their original positions. 

First of all she came upon the opening chapters of the work on Cayenne;then upon the drafts of Florent's various plans and projects, hisschemes for converting the Octroi duties into taxes upon sales, forreforming the administrative system of the markets, and all the others. These pages of small writing, which she set herself to read, bored herextremely, and she was about to restore the drawer to its place, feelingconvinced that Florent concealed the proofs of his wicked designselsewhere, and already contemplating a searching visitation of hismattress, when she discovered a photograph of La Normande in anenvelope. The impression was rather dark. La Normande was standing upwith her right arm resting on a broken column. Decked out with allher jewels, and attired in a new silk dress, the fish-girl was smilingimpudently, and Lisa, at the sight, forgot all about her brother-in-law, her fears, and the purpose for which she had come into the room. Shebecame quite absorbed in her examination of the portrait, as oftenhappens when one woman scrutinises the photograph of another at herease, without fear of being seen. Never before had she so favourable anopportunity to study her rival. She scrutinised her hair, her nose, hermouth; held the photograph at a distance, and then brought it closeragain. And, finally, with compressed lips, she read on the back of it, in a big, ugly scrawl: "Louise, to her friend, Florent. " This quitescandalised her; to her mind it was a confession, and she felt a strongimpulse to take possession of the photograph, and keep it as a weaponagainst her enemy. However, she slowly replaced it in the envelope oncoming to the conclusion that this course would be wrong, and reflectingthat she would always know where to find it should she want it again. 

Then, as she again began turning over the loose sheets of paper, itoccurred to her to look at the back end of the drawer, where Florent hadrelegated Augustine's needles and thread; and there, between the missaland the Dream-book, she discovered what she sought, some extremelycompromising memoranda, simply screened from observation by a wrapper ofgrey paper. 

That idea of an insurrection, of the overthrow of the Empire by meansof an armed rising, which Logre had one evening propounded at MonsieurLebigre's, had slowly ripened in Florent's feverish brain. He soon grewto see a duty, a mission in it. Therein undoubtedly lay the task towhich his escape from Cayenne and his return to Paris predestined him. Believing in a call to avenge his leanness upon the city which wallowedin food while the upholders of right and equity were racked by hungerin exile, he took upon himself the duties of a justiciary, and dreamt ofrising up, even in the midst of those markets, to sweep away the reignof gluttony and drunkenness. In a sensitive nature like his, this ideaquickly took root. Everything about him assumed exaggerated proportions, the wildest fancies possessed him. He imagined that the markets had beenconscious of his arrival, and had seized hold of him that they mightenervate him and poison him with their stenches. Then, too, Lisa wantedto cast a spell over him, and for two or three days at a time he wouldavoid her, as though she were some dissolving agency which would destroyall his power of will should he approach too closely. However, theseparoxysms of puerile fear, these wild surgings of his rebellious brain, always ended in thrills of the gentlest tenderness, with yearnings tolove and be loved, which he concealed with a boyish shame. 

It was more especially in the evening that his mind became blurred byall his wild imaginings. Depressed by his day's work, but shunning sleepfrom a covert fear--the fear of the annihilation it brought with it--hewould remain later than ever at Monsieur Lebigre's, or at the Mehudins';and on his return home he still refrained from going to bed, and satup writing and preparing for the great insurrection. By slow degrees hedevised a complete system of organisation. He divided Paris into twentysections, one for each arrondissement. Each section would have achief, a sort of general, under whose orders there were to be twentylieutenants commanding twenty companies of affiliated associates. Everyweek, among the chiefs, there would be a consultation, which was to beheld in a different place each time; and, the better to ensure secrecyand discretion, the associates would only come in contact with theirrespective lieutenants, these alone communicating with the chiefs of thesections. It also occurred to Florent that it would be as well that thecompanies should believe themselves charged with imaginary missions, asa means of putting the police upon a wrong scent. 

As for the employment of the insurrectionary forces, that would be allsimplicity. It would, of course, be necessary to wait till the companieswere quite complete, and then advantage would be taken of the firstpublic commotion. They would doubtless only have a certain number ofguns used for sporting purposes in their possession, so they wouldcommence by seizing the police stations and guard-houses, disarming thesoldiers of the line; resorting to violence as little as possible, andinviting the men to make common cause with the people. Afterwards theywould march upon the Corps Legislatif, and thence to the Hotel de Ville. This plan, to which Florent returned night after night, as though itwere some dramatic scenario which relieved his over-excited nervoussystem, was as yet simply jotted down on scraps of paper, full oferasures, which showed how the writer had felt his way, and revealedeach successive phase of his scientific yet puerile conception. WhenLisa had glanced through the notes, without understanding some of them, she remained there trembling with fear; afraid to touch them furtherlest they should explode in her hands like live shells. 

A last memorandum frightened her more than any of the others. It wasa half sheet of paper on which Florent had sketched the distinguishinginsignia which the chiefs and the lieutenants were to wear. By theside of these were rough drawings of the standards which the differentcompanies were to carry; and notes in pencil even described what coloursthe banners should assume. The chiefs were to wear red scarves, and thelieutenants red armlets. 

To Lisa this seemed like an immediate realisation of the rising; she sawall the men with their red badges marching past the pork shop, firingbullets into her mirrors and marble, and carrying off sausagesand chitterlings from the window. The infamous projects of herbrother-in-law were surely directed against herself--against her ownhappiness. She closed the drawer and looked round the room, reflectingthat it was she herself who had provided this man with a home--that heslept between her sheets and used her furniture. And she was especiallyexasperated at his keeping his abominable infernal machine in thatlittle deal table which she herself had used at Uncle Gradelle's beforeher marriage--a perfectly innocent, rickety little table. 

For a while she stood thinking what she should do. In the first place, it was useless to say anything to Quenu. For a moment it occurred toher to provoke an explanation with Florent, but she dismissed that idea, fearing lest he would only go and perpetrate his crime elsewhere, andmaliciously make a point of compromising them. Then gradually growingsomewhat calmer, she came to the conclusion that her best plan would beto keep a careful watch over her brother-in-law. It would be time enoughto take further steps at the first sign of danger. She already had quitesufficient evidence to send him back to the galleys. 

On returning to the shop again, she found Augustine in a state ofgreat excitement. Little Pauline had disappeared more than half anhour before, and to Lisa's anxious questions the young woman could onlyreply: "I don't know where she can have got to, madame. She was on thepavement there with a little boy. I was watching them, and then I had tocut some ham for a gentleman, and I never saw them again. "

"I'll wager it was Muche!" cried Lisa. "Ah, the young scoundrel!"

It was, indeed, Muche who had enticed Pauline away. The little girl, whowas wearing a new blue-striped frock that day for the first time, hadbeen anxious to exhibit it, and had accordingly taken her stand outsidethe shop, manifesting great propriety of bearing, and compressing herlips with the grave expression of a little woman of six who is afraid ofsoiling her clothes. Her short and stiffly-starched petticoats stood outlike the skirts of a ballet girl, allowing a full view of her tightlystretched white stockings and little sky-blue boots. Her pinafore, which hung low about her neck, was finished off at the shoulders with anedging of embroidery, below which appeared her pretty little arms, bareand rosy. She had small turquoise rings in her ears, a cross at herneck, a blue velvet ribbon in her well-brushed hair; and she displayedall her mother's plumpness and softness--the gracefulness, indeed, of anew doll. 

Muche had caught sight of her from the market, where he was amusinghimself by dropping little dead fishes into the gutter, following themalong the kerb as the water carried them away, and declaring that theywere swimming. However, the sight of Pauline standing in front of theshop and looking so smart and pretty made him cross over to her, caplessas he was, with his blouse ragged, his trousers slipping down, and hiswhole appearance suggestive of a seven-year-old street-arab. His motherhad certainly forbidden him to play any more with "that fat booby of agirl who was stuffed by her parents till she almost burst"; so he stoodhesitating for a moment, but at last came up to Pauline, and wanted tofeel her pretty striped frock. The little girl, who had at first feltflattered, then put on a prim air and stepped back, exclaiming in a toneof displeasure: "Leave me alone. Mother says I'm not to have anything todo with you. "

This brought a laugh to the lips of Muche, who was a wily, enterprisingyoung scamp. 

"What a little flat you are!" he retorted. "What does it matter whatyour mother says? Let's go and play at shoving each other, eh?"

He doubtless nourished some wicked idea of dirtying the neat littlegirl; but she, on seeing him prepare to give her a push in the back, retreated as though about to return inside the shop. Muche thereuponadopted a flattering tone like a born cajoler. 

"You silly! I didn't mean it, " said he. "How nice you look like that! Isthat little cross your mother's?"

Pauline perked herself up, and replied that it was her own, whereuponMuche gently led her to the corner of the Rue Pirouette, touching herskirts the while and expressing his astonishment at their wonderfulstiffness. All this pleased the little girl immensely. She had been verymuch vexed at not receiving any notice while she was exhibiting herselfoutside the shop. However, in spite of all Muche's blandishments, shestill refused to leave the footway. 

"You stupid fatty!" thereupon exclaimed the youngster, relapsing intocoarseness. "I'll squat you down in the gutter if you don't look out, Miss Fine-airs!"

The girl was dreadfully alarmed. Muche had caught hold of her bythe hand; but, recognising his mistake in policy, he again put on awheedling air, and began to fumble in his pocket. 

"I've got a sou, " said he. 

The sight of the coin had a soothing effect upon Pauline. The boy heldup the sou with the tips of his fingers, and the temptation to followit proved so great that the girl at last stepped down into the roadway. Muche's diplomacy was eminently successful. 

"What do you like best?" he asked. 

Pauline gave no immediate answer. She could not make up her mind; therewere so many things that she liked. Muche, however, ran over a wholelist of dainties--liquorice, molasses, gum-balls, and powdered sugar. The powdered sugar made the girl ponder. One dipped one's fingers intoit and sucked them; it was very nice. For a while she gravely consideredthe matter. Then, at last making up her mind, she said:

"No, I like the mixed screws the best. "

Muche thereupon took hold of her arm, and she unresistingly allowed himto lead her away. They crossed the Rue Rambuteau, followed the broadfootway skirting the markets, and went as far as a grocer's shop in theRue de la Cossonnerie which was celebrated for its mixed screws. Thesemixed screws are small screws of paper in which grocers put up all sortsof damaged odds and ends, broken sugar-plums, fragments of crystallisedchestnuts--all the doubtful residuum of their jars of sweets. Mucheshowed himself very gallant, allowed Pauline to choose the screw--a blueone--paid his sou, and did not attempt to dispossess her of the sweets. Outside, on the footway, she emptied the miscellaneous collection ofscraps into both pockets of her pinafore; and they were such littlepockets that they were quite filled. Then in delight she began to munchthe fragments one by one, wetting her fingers to catch the fine sugarydust, with such effect that she melted the scraps of sweets, and thepockets of her pinafore soon showed two brownish stains. Muche laughedslily to himself. He had his arm about the girl's waist, and rumpled herfrock at his ease whilst leading her round the corner of the Rue PierreLescot, in the direction of the Place des Innocents. 

"You'll come and play now, won't you?" he asked. "That's nice whatyou've got in your pockets, ain't it? You see that I didn't want to doyou any harm, you big silly!"

Thereupon he plunged his own fingers into her pockets, and they enteredthe square together. To this spot, no doubt, he had all along intendedto lure his victim. He did the honours of the square as though it werehis own private property, and indeed it was a favourite haunt of his, where he often larked about for whole afternoons. Pauline had neverbefore strayed so far from home, and would have wept like an abducteddamsel had it not been that her pockets were full of sweets. Thefountain in the middle of the flowered lawn was sending sheets of waterdown its tiers of basins, whilst, between the pilasters above, JeanGoujon's nymphs, looking very white beside the dingy grey stonework, inclined their urns and displayed their nude graces in the grimy airof the Saint Denis quarter. The two children walked round the fountain, watching the water fall into the basins, and taking an interest in thegrass, with thoughts, no doubt, of crossing the central lawn, or glidinginto the clumps of holly and rhododendrons that bordered the railings ofthe square. Little Muche, however, who had now effectually rumpled theback of the pretty frock, said with his sly smile:

"Let's play at throwing sand at each other, eh?"

Pauline had no will of her own left; and they began to throw the sand ateach other, keeping their eyes closed meanwhile. The sand made its wayin at the neck of the girl's low bodice, and trickled down into herstockings and boots. Muche was delighted to see the white pinaforebecome quite yellow. But he doubtless considered that it was still fartoo clean. 

"Let's go and plant trees, shall we?" he exclaimed suddenly. "I know howto make such pretty gardens. "

"Really, gardens!" murmured Pauline full of admiration. 

Then, as the keeper of the square happened to be absent, Muche told herto make some holes in one of the borders; and dropping on her knees inthe middle of the soft mould, and leaning forward till she lay at fulllength on her stomach, she dug her pretty little arms into the ground. He, meantime, began to hunt for scraps of wood, and broke off branches. These were the garden-trees which he planted in the holes that Paulinemade. He invariably complained, however, that the holes were not deepenough, and rated the girl as though she were an idle workman and he anindignant master. When she at last got up, she was black from head tofoot. Her hair was full of mould, her face was smeared with it, shelooked such a sight with her arms as black as a coalheaver's that Mucheclapped his hands with glee, and exclaimed: "Now we must water thetrees. They won't grow, you know, if we don't water them. "

That was the finishing stroke. They went outside the square, scooped thegutter-water up in the palms of their hands, and then ran back to pourit over the bits of wood. On the way, Pauline, who was so fat that shecouldn't run properly, let the water trickle between her fingers on toher frock, so that by the time of her sixth journey she looked as if shehad been rolled in the gutter. Muche chuckled with delight on beholdingher dreadful condition. He made her sit down beside him under arhododendron near the garden they had made, and told her that the treeswere already beginning to grow. He had taken hold of her hand and calledher his little wife. 

"You're not sorry now that you came, are you, " he asked, "instead ofmooning about on the pavement, where there was nothing to do? I know allsorts of fun we can have in the streets; you must come with me again. You will, won't you? But you mustn't say anything to your mother, mind. If you say a word to her, I'll pull your hair the next time I come pastyour shop. "

Pauline consented to everything; and then, as a last attention, Muchefilled both pockets of her pinafore with mould. However, all the sweetswere finished, and the girl began to get uneasy, and ceased playing. Muche thereupon started pinching her, and she burst into tears, sobbingthat she wanted to go away. But at this the lad only grinned, and playedthe bully, threatening that he would not take her home at all. Then shegrew terribly alarmed, and sobbed and gasped like a maiden in the powerof a libertine. Muche would certainly have ended by punching her inorder to stop her row, had not a shrill voice, the voice of MademoiselleSaget, exclaimed, close by: "Why, I declare it's Pauline! Leave heralone, you wicked young scoundrel!"

Then the old maid took the girl by the hand, with endless expressionsof amazement at the pitiful condition of her clothes. Muche showed noalarm, but followed them, chuckling to himself, and declaring that itwas Pauline who had wanted to come with him, and had tumbled down. 

Mademoiselle Saget was a regular frequenter of the Square des Innocents. Every afternoon she would spend a good hour there to keep herself wellposted in the gossip of the common people. On either side there is along crescent of benches placed end to end; and on these the poor folkswho stifle in the hovels of the neighbouring narrow streets assemble incrowds. There are withered, chilly-looking old women in tumbled caps, and young ones in loose jackets and carelessly fastened skirts, withbare heads and tired, faded faces, eloquent of the wretchedness of theirlives. There are some men also: tidy old buffers, porters in greasyjackets, and equivocal-looking individuals in black silk hats, while thefoot-path is overrun by a swarm of youngsters dragging toy carts withoutwheels about, filling pails with sand, and screaming and fighting;a dreadful crew, with ragged clothes and dirty noses, teeming in thesunshine like vermin. 

Mademoiselle Saget was so slight and thin that she always managed toinsinuate herself into a place on one of the benches. She listened towhat was being said, and started a conversation with her neighbour, somesallow-faced workingman's wife, who sat mending linen, from time to timeproducing handkerchiefs and stockings riddled with holes from a littlebasket patched up with string. Moreover, Mademoiselle Saget hadplenty of acquaintances here. Amidst the excruciating squalling ofthe children, and the ceaseless rumble of the traffic in the Rue SaintDenis, she took part in no end of gossip, everlasting tales about thetradesmen of the neighbourhood, the grocers, the butchers, and thebakers, enough, indeed, to fill the columns of a local paper, and thewhole envenomed by refusals of credit and covert envy, such as is alwaysharboured by the poor. From these wretched creatures she also obtainedthe most disgusting revelations, the gossip of low lodging-houses anddoorkeepers' black-holes, all the filthy scandal of the neighbourhood, which tickled her inquisitive appetite like hot spice. 

As she sat with her face turned towards the markets, she had immediatelyin front of her the square and its three blocks of houses, into thewindows of which her eyes tried to pry. She seemed to gradually riseand traverse the successive floors right up to the garret skylights. She stared at the curtains; based an entire drama on the appearance ofa head between two shutters; and, by simply gazing at the facades, endedby knowing the history of all the dwellers in these houses. The BaratteRestaurant, with its wine shop, its gilt wrought-iron _marquise_, forming a sort of terrace whence peeped the foliage of a few plants inflower-pots, and its four low storeys, all painted and decorated, had anespecial interest for her. She gazed at its yellow columns standingout against a background of tender blue, at the whole of its imitationtemple-front daubed on the facade of a decrepit, tumble-down house, crowned at the summit by a parapet of painted zinc. Behind thered-striped window-blinds she espied visions of nice little lunches, delicate suppers, and uproarious, unlimited orgies. And she did nothesitate to invent lies about the place. It was there, she declared, that Florent came to gorge with those two hussies, the Mehudins, on whomhe lavished his money. 

However, Pauline cried yet louder than before when the old maid tookhold of her hand. Mademoiselle Saget at first led her towards the gateof the square; but before she got there she seemed to change her mind;for she sat down at the end of a bench and tried to pacify the child. 

"Come, now, give over crying, or the policeman will lock you up, " shesaid to Pauline. "I'll take you home safely. You know me, don't you? I'ma good friend. Come, come, let me see how prettily you can smile. "

The child, however, was choking with sobs and wanted to go away. Mademoiselle Saget thereupon quietly allowed her to continue weeping, reserving further remarks till she should have finished. The poor littlecreature was shivering all over; her petticoats and stockings werewet through, and as she wiped her tears away with her dirty hands sheplastered the whole of her face with earth to the very tips of herears. When at last she became a little calmer the old maid resumed ina caressing tone: "Your mamma isn't unkind, is she? She's very fond ofyou, isn't she?"

"Oh, yes, indeed, " replied Pauline, still sobbing. 

"And your papa, he's good to you, too, isn't he? He doesn't flog you, orquarrel with your mother, does he? What do they talk about when they goto bed?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm asleep then. "

"Do they talk about your cousin Florent?"

"I don't know. "

Mademoiselle Saget thereupon assumed a severe expression, and got up asif about to go away. 

"I'm afraid you are a little story-teller, " she said. "Don't you knowthat it's very wicked to tell stories? I shall go away and leave you, ifyou tell me lies, and then Muche will come back and pinch you. "

Pauline began to cry again at the threat of being abandoned. "Be quiet, be quiet, you wicked little imp!" cried the old maid shakingher. "There, there, now, I won't go away. I'll buy you a stick ofbarley-sugar; yes, a stick of barley-sugar! So you don't love yourcousin Florent, eh?"

"No, mamma says he isn't good. "

"Ah, then, so you see your mother does say something. "

"One night when I was in bed with Mouton--I sleep with Mouton sometimes, you know--I heard her say to father, 'Your brother has only escaped fromthe galleys to take us all back with him there. '"

Mademoiselle Saget gave vent to a faint cry, and sprang to her feet, quivering all over. A ray of light had just broken upon her. Thenwithout a word she caught hold of Pauline's hand and made her run tillthey reached the pork shop, her lips meanwhile compressed by an inwardsmile, and her eyes glistening with keen delight. At the corner of theRue Pirouette, Muche, who had so far followed them, amused at seeing thegirl running along in her muddy stockings, prudently disappeared. 

Lisa was now in a state of terrible alarm; and when she saw her daughterso bedraggled and limp, her consternation was such that she turned thechild round and round, without even thinking of beating her. 

"She has been with little Muche, " said the old maid, in her maliciousvoice. "I took her away at once, and I've brought her home. I found themtogether in the square. I don't know what they've been up to; but thatyoung vagabond is capable of anything. "

Lisa could not find a word to say; and she did not know where to takehold of her daughter, so great was her disgust at the sight of thechild's muddy boots, soiled stockings, torn skirts, and filthy face andhands. The blue velvet ribbon, the earrings, and the necklet were allconcealed beneath a crust of mud. But what put the finishing touch toLisa's exasperation was the discovery of the two pockets filled withmould. She stooped and emptied them, regardless of the pink and whiteflooring of the shop. And as she dragged Pauline away, she could onlygasp: "Come along, you filthy thing!"

Quite enlivened by this scene, Mademoiselle Saget now hurriedly madeher way across the Rue Rambuteau. Her little feet scarcely touched theground; her joy seemed to carry her along like a breeze which fanned herwith a caressing touch. She had at last found out what she had so muchwanted to know! For nearly a year she had been consumed by curiosity, and now at a single stroke she had gained complete power over Florent!This was unhoped-for contentment, positive salvation, for she felt thatFlorent would have brought her to the tomb had she failed much longer insatisfying her curiosity about him. At present she was complete mistressof the whole neighbourhood of the markets. There was no longer any gapin her information. She could have narrated the secret history of everystreet, shop by shop. And thus, as she entered the fruit market, shefairly gasped with delight, in a perfect transport of pleasure. 

"Hallo, Mademoiselle Saget, " cried La Sarriette from her stall, "whatare you smiling to yourself like that about? Have you won the grandprize in the lottery?"

"No, no. Ah, my dear, if you only knew!"

Standing there amidst her fruit, La Sarriette, in her picturesquedisarray, looked charming. Frizzy hair fell over her brow like vinebranches. Her bare arms and neck, indeed all the rosy flesh she showed, bloomed with the freshness of peach and cherry. She had playfully hungsome cherries on her ears, black cherries which dangled against hercheeks when she stooped, shaking with merry laughter. She was eatingcurrants, and her merriment arose from the way in which she was smearingher face with them. Her lips were bright red, glistening with the juiceof the fruit, as though they had been painted and perfumed with someseraglio face-paint. A perfume of plum exhaled from her gown, whilefrom the kerchief carelessly fastened across her breast came an odour ofstrawberries. 

Fruits of all kinds were piled around her in her narrow stall. On theshelves at the back were rows of melons, so-called "cantaloups" swarmingwith wart-like knots, "maraichers" whose skin was covered with greylace-like netting, and "culs-de-singe" displaying smooth bare bumps. Infront was an array of choice fruits, carefully arranged in baskets, andshowing like smooth round cheeks seeking to hide themselves, or glimpsesof sweet childish faces, half veiled by leaves. Especially was this thecase with the peaches, the blushing peaches of Montreuil, with skinas delicate and clear as that of northern maidens, and the yellow, sun-burnt peaches from the south, brown like the damsels of Provence. The apricots, on their beds of moss, gleamed with the hue of amber orwith that sunset glow which so warmly colours the necks of brunettes atthe nape, just under the little wavy curls which fall below the chignon. The cherries, ranged one by one, resembled the short lips of smilingChinese girls; the Montmorencies suggested the dumpy mouths of buxomwomen; the English ones were longer and graver-looking; the common blackones seemed as though they had been bruised and crushed by kisses; whilethe white-hearts, with their patches of rose and white, appeared tosmile with mingled merriment and vexation. Then piles of applesand pears, built up with architectural symmetry, often in pyramids, displayed the ruddy glow of budding breasts and the gleaming sheen ofshoulders, quite a show of nudity, lurking modestly behind a screen offern-leaves. There were all sorts of varieties--little red ones sotiny that they seemed to be yet in the cradle, shapeless "rambours"for baking, "calvilles" in light yellow gowns, sanguineous-looking"Canadas, " blotched "chataignier" apples, fair freckled rennets anddusky russets. Then came the pears--the "blanquettes, " the "Britishqueens, " the "Beurres, " the "messirejeans, " and the "duchesses"--somedumpy, some long and tapering, some with slender necks, and others withthick-set shoulders, their green and yellow bellies picked out at timeswith a splotch of carmine. By the side of these the transparent plumsresembled tender, chlorotic virgins; the greengages and the Orleansplums paled as with modest innocence, while the mirabelles lay likegolden beads of a rosary forgotten in a box amongst sticks ofvanilla. And the strawberries exhaled a sweet perfume--a perfume ofyouth--especially those little ones which are gathered in the woods, andwhich are far more aromatic than the large ones grown in gardens, for these breathe an insipid odour suggestive of the watering-pot. Raspberries added their fragrance to the pure scent. The currants--red, white, and black--smiled with a knowing air; whilst the heavy clustersof grapes, laden with intoxication, lay languorously at the edgesof their wicker baskets, over the sides of which dangled some of theberries, scorched by the hot caresses of the voluptuous sun. 

It was there that La Sarriette lived in an orchard, as it were, inan atmosphere of sweet, intoxicating scents. The cheaper fruits--thecherries, plums, and strawberries--were piled up in front of her inpaper-lined baskets, and the juice coming from their bruised ripenessstained the stall-front, and steamed, with a strong perfume, in theheat. She would feel quite giddy on those blazing July afternoons whenthe melons enveloped her with a powerful, vaporous odour of musk; andthen with her loosened kerchief, fresh as she was with the springtide oflife, she brought sudden temptation to all who saw her. It was she--itwas her arms and necks which gave that semblance of amorous vitalityto her fruit. On the stall next to her an old woman, a hideous olddrunkard, displayed nothing but wrinkled apples, pears as flabbyas herself, and cadaverous apricots of a witch-like sallowness. LaSarriette's stall, however, spoke of love and passion. The cherrieslooked like the red kisses of her bright lips; the silky peaches werenot more delicate than her neck; to the plums she seemed to have lentthe skin from her brow and chin; while some of her own crimson bloodcoursed through the veins of the currants. All the scents of theavenue of flowers behind her stall were but insipid beside the aroma ofvitality which exhaled from her open baskets and falling kerchief. 

That day she was quite intoxicated by the scent of a large arrival ofmirabelle plums, which filled the market. She could plainly see thatMademoiselle Saget had learnt some great piece of news, and she wishedto make her talk. But the old maid stamped impatiently whilst sherepeated: "No, no; I've no time. I'm in a great hurry to see MadameLecoeur. I've just learnt something and no mistake. You can come withme, if you like. "

As a matter of fact, she had simply gone through the fruit market forthe purpose of enticing La Sarriette to go with her. The girl couldnot refuse temptation. Monsieur Jules, clean-shaven and as fresh as acherub, was seated there, swaying to and fro on his chair. 

"Just look after the stall for a minute, will you?" La Sarriette said tohim. "I'll be back directly. "

Jules, however, got up and called after her, in a thick voice: "Not I;no fear! I'm off! I'm not going to wait an hour for you, as I did theother day. And, besides, those cursed plums of yours quite make my headache. "

Then he calmly strolled off, with his hands in his pockets, and thestall was left to look after itself. Mademoiselle Saget went so fastthat La Sarriette had to run. In the butter pavilion a neighbour ofMadame Lecoeur's told them that she was below in the cellar; and so, whilst La Sarriette went down to find her, the old maid installedherself amidst the cheeses. 

The cellar under the butter market is a very gloomy spot. The rows ofstorerooms are protected by a very fine wire meshing, as a safeguardagainst fire; and the gas jets, which are very few and far between, glimmer like yellow splotches destitute of radiance in the heavy, malordorous atmosphere beneath the low vault. Madame Lecoeur, however, was at work on her butter at one of the tables placed parallel with theRue Berger, and here a pale light filtered through the vent-holes. Thetables, which are continually sluiced with a flood of water from thetaps, are as white as though they were quite new. With her back turnedto the pump in the rear, Madame Lecoeur was kneading her butter in akind of oak box. She took some of different sorts which lay beside her, and mixed the varieties together, correcting one by another, just as isdone in the blending of wines. Bent almost double, and showing sharp, bony shoulders, and arms bared to the elbows, as scraggy and knotted aspea-rods, she dug her fists into the greasy paste in front of her, whichwas assuming a whitish and chalky appearance. It was trying work, andshe heaved a sigh at each fresh effort. 

"Mademoiselle Saget wants to speak to you, aunt, " said La Sarriette. 

Madame Lecoeur stopped her work, and pulled her cap over her hair withher greasy fingers, seemingly quite careless of staining it. "I'venearly finished. Ask her to wait a moment, " she said. 

"She's got something very particular to tell you, " continued LaSarriette. 

"I won't be more than a minute, my dear. "

Then she again plunged her arms into the butter, which buried them upto the elbows. Previously softened in warm water, it covered MadameLecoeur's parchment-like skin as with an oily film, and threw the bigpurple veins that streaked her flesh into strong relief. La Sarriettewas quite disgusted by the sight of those hideous arms working sofrantically amidst the melting mass. However, she could recall the timewhen her own pretty little hands had manipulated the butter for wholeafternoons at a time. It had even been a sort of almond-paste to her, a cosmetic which had kept her skin white and her nails delicately pink;and even now her slender fingers retained the suppleness it had endowedthem with. 

"I don't think that butter of yours will be very good, aunt, " shecontinued, after a pause. "Some of the sorts seem much too strong. "

"I'm quite aware of that, " replied Madame Lecoeur, between a couple ofgroans. "But what can I do? I must use everything up. There are somefolks who insist upon having butter cheap, and so cheap butter must bemade for them. Oh! it's always quite good enough for those who buy it. "

La Sarriette reflected that she would hardly care to eat butter whichhad been worked by her aunt's arms. Then she glanced at a little jarfull of a sort of reddish dye. "Your colouring is too pale, " she said. 

This colouring-matter--"raucourt, " as the Parisians call it is used togive the butter a fine yellow tint. The butter women imagine thatits composition is known only to themselves, and keep it very secret. However, it is merely made from anotta;[*] though a composition ofcarrots and marigold is at times substituted for it. 

 [*] Anotta, which is obtained from the pulp surrounding the seeds of the _Bixa Orellana_, is used for a good many purposes besides the colouring of butter and cheese. It frequently enters into the composition of chocolate, and is employed to dye nankeen. Police court proceedings have also shown that it is well known to the London milkmen, who are in the habit of adding water to their merchandise. --Translator. 

"Come, do be quick!" La Sarriette now exclaimed, for she was gettingimpatient, and was, moreover, no longer accustomed to the malodorousatmosphere of the cellar. "Mademoiselle Saget will be going. I fancyshe's got something very important to tell you abut my uncle Gavard. "

On hearing this, Madame Lecoeur abruptly ceased working. She at onceabandoned both butter and dye, and did not even wait to wipe her arms. With a slight tap of her hand she settled her cap on her head again, andmade her way up the steps, at her niece's heels, anxiously repeating:"Do you really think that she'll have gone away?"

She was reassured, however, on catching sight of Mademoiselle Sagetamidst the cheeses. The old maid had taken good care not to go awaybefore Madame Lecoeur's arrival. The three women seated themselves atthe far end of the stall, crowding closely together, and their facesalmost touching one another. Mademoiselle Saget remained silent fortwo long minutes, and then, seeing that the others were burning withcuriosity, she began, in her shrill voice: "You know that Florent! Well, I can tell you now where he comes from. "

For another moment she kept them in suspense; and then, in a deep, melodramatic voice, she said: "He comes from the galleys!"

The cheeses were reeking around the three women. On the two shelves atthe far end of the stall were huge masses of butter: Brittany buttersoverflowing from baskets; Normandy butters, wrapped in canvas, andresembling models of stomachs over which some sculptor had thrown dampcloths to keep them from drying; while other great blocks had been cutinto, fashioned into perpendicular rocky masses full of crevasses andvalleys, and resembling fallen mountain crests gilded by the pale sun ofan autumn evening. 

Beneath the stall show-table, formed of a slab of red marble veined withgrey, baskets of eggs gleamed with a chalky whiteness; while on layersof straw in boxes were Bondons, placed end to end, and Gournays, arranged like medals, forming darker patches tinted with green. Butit was upon the table that the cheeses appeared in greatest profusion. Here, by the side of the pound-rolls of butter lying on white-beetleaves, spread a gigantic Cantal cheese, cloven here and there as by anaxe; then came a golden-hued Cheshire, and next a Gruyere, resemblinga wheel fallen from some barbarian chariot; whilst farther on were someDutch cheeses, suggesting decapitated heads suffused with dry blood, andhaving all that hardness of skulls which in France has gained themthe name of "death's heads. " Amidst the heavy exhalations of these, aParmesan set a spicy aroma. Then there came three Brie cheeses displayedon round platters, and looking like melancholy extinct moons. Two ofthem, very dry, were at the full; the third, in its second quarter, wasmelting away in a white cream, which had spread into a pool and flowedover the little wooden barriers with which an attempt had been made toarrest its course. Next came some Port Saluts, similar to antique discs, with exergues bearing their makers' names in print. A Romantour, in itstin-foil wrapper, suggested a bar of nougat or some sweet cheese astrayamidst all these pungent, fermenting curds. The Roqueforts under theirglass covers also had a princely air, their fat faces marbled with blueand yellow, as though they were suffering from some unpleasant maladysuch as attacks the wealthy gluttons who eat too many truffles. And on adish by the side of these, the hard grey goats' milk cheeses, about thesize of a child's fist, resembled the pebbles which the billy-goatssend rolling down the stony paths as they clamber along ahead of theirflocks. Next came the strong smelling cheeses: the Mont d'Ors, of abright yellow hue, and exhaling a comparatively mild odour; the Troyes, very thick, and bruised at the edges, and of a far more pungent smell, recalling the dampness of a cellar; the Camemberts, suggestive of highgame; the square Neufchatels, Limbourgs, Marolles, and Pont l'Eveques, each adding its own particular sharp scent to the malodorous bouquet, till it became perfectly pestilential; the Livarots, ruddy in hue, andas irritating to the throat as sulphur fumes; and, lastly, stronger thanall the others, the Olivets, wrapped in walnut leaves, like the carrionwhich peasants cover with branches as it lies rotting in the hedgerowunder the blazing sun. 

The heat of the afternoon had softened the cheeses; the patches of mouldon their crusts were melting, and glistening with tints of ruddy bronzeand verdigris. Beneath their cover of leaves, the skins of the Olivetsseemed to be heaving as with the slow, deep respiration of a sleepingman. A Livarot was swarming with life; and in a fragile box behind thescales a Gerome flavoured with aniseed diffused such a pestilentialsmell that all around it the very flies had fallen lifeless on thegray-veined slap of ruddy marble. 

This Gerome was almost immediately under Mademoiselle Saget's nose; soshe drew back, and leaned her head against the big sheets of white andyellow paper which were hanging in a corner. 

"Yes, " she repeated, with an expression of disgust, "he comes from thegalleys! Ah, those Quenu-Gradelles have no reason to put on so manyairs!"

Madame Lecoeur and La Sarriette, however, had burst into exclamations ofastonishment: "It wasn't possible, surely! What had he done to be sentto the galleys? Could anyone, now, have ever suspected that MadameQuenu, whose virtue was the pride of the whole neighbourhood, wouldchoose a convict for a lover?"

"Ah, but you don't understand at all!" cried the old maid impatiently. "Just listen, now, while I explain things. I was quite certain that Ihad seen that great lanky fellow somewhere before. "

Then she proceeded to tell them Florent's story. She had recalled tomind a vague report which had circulated of a nephew of old Gradellebeing transported to Cayenne for murdering six gendarmes at a barricade. She had even seen this nephew on one occasion in the Rue Pirouette. Thepretended cousin was undoubtedly the same man. Then she began to bemoanher waning powers. Her memory was quite going, she said; she would soonbe unable to remember anything. And she bewailed her perishing memoryas bitterly as any learned man might bewail the loss of his notesrepresenting the work of a life-time, on seeing them swept away by agust of wind. 

"Six gendarmes!" murmured La Sarriette, admiringly; "he must have a veryheavy fist!"

"And he's made away with plenty of others, as well, " added MademoiselleSaget. "I shouldn't advise you to meet him at night!"

"What a villain!" stammered out Madame Lecoeur, quite terrified. 

The slanting beams of the sinking sun were now enfilading the pavilion, and the odour of the cheeses became stronger than ever. That of theMarolles seemed to predominate, borne hither and thither in powerfulwhiffs. Then, however, the wind appeared to change, and suddenly theemanations of the Limbourgs were wafted towards the three women, pungentand bitter, like the last gasps of a dying man. 

"But in that case, " resumed Madame Lecoeur, "he must be fat Lisa'sbrother-in-law. And we thought that he was her lover!"

The women exchanged glances. This aspect of the case took them bysurprise. They were loth to give up their first theory. However, LaSarriette, turning to Mademoiselle Saget, remarked: "That must have beenall wrong. Besides, you yourself say that he's always running after thetwo Mehudin girls. "

"Certainly he is, " exclaimed Mademoiselle Saget sharply, fancying thather word was doubted. "He dangles about them every evening. But, afterall, it's no concern of ours, is it? We are virtuous women, and what hedoes makes no difference to us, the horrid scoundrel!"

"No, certainly not, " agreed the other two. "He's a consummate villain. "

The affair was becoming tragical. Of course beautiful Lisa was nowout of the question, but for this they found ample consolation inprophesying that Florent would bring about some frightful catastrophe. It was quite clear, they said, that he had got some base design inhis head. When people like him escaped from gaol it was only to burneverything down; and if he had come to the markets it must assuredly befor some abominable purpose. Then they began to indulge in the wildestsuppositions. The two dealers declared that they would put additionalpadlocks to the doors of their storerooms; and La Sarriette calledto mind that a basket of peaches had been stolen from her during theprevious week. Mademoiselle Saget, however, quite frightened the twoothers by informing them that that was not the way in which the Redsbehaved; they despised such trifles as baskets of peaches; their planwas to band themselves together in companies of two or three hundred, kill everybody they came across, and then plunder and pillage at theirease. That was "politics, " she said, with the superior air of one whoknew what she was talking about. Madame Lecoeur felt quite ill. Shealready saw Florent and his accomplices hiding in the cellars, andrushing out during the night to set the markets in flames and sackParis. 

"Ah! by the way, " suddenly exclaimed the old maid, "now I think of it, there's all that money of old Gradelle's! Dear me, dear me, those Quenuscan't be at all at their ease!"

She now looked quite gay again. The conversation took a fresh turn, andthe others fell foul of the Quenus when Mademoiselle Saget had told themthe history of the treasure discovered in the salting-tub, with everyparticular of which she was acquainted. She was even able to informthem of the exact amount of the money found--eighty-five thousandfrancs--though neither Lisa nor Quenu was aware of having revealed thisto a living soul. However, it was clear that the Quenus had not giventhe great lanky fellow his share. He was too shabbily dressed forthat. Perhaps he had never even heard of the discovery of the treasure. Plainly enough, they were all thieves in his family. Then the threewomen bent their heads together and spoke in lower tones. They wereunanimously of opinion that it might perhaps be dangerous to attack thebeautiful Lisa, but it was decidedly necessary that they should settlethe Red Republican's hash, so that he might no longer prey upon thepurse of poor Monsieur Gavard. 

At the mention of Gavard there came a pause. The gossips looked ateach other with a circumspect air. And then, as they drew breath, theyinhaled the odour of the Camemberts, whose gamy scent had overpoweredthe less penetrating emanations of the Marolles and the Limbourgs, andspread around with remarkable power. Every now and then, however, aslight whiff, a flutelike note, came from the Parmesan, while the Briescontributed a soft, musty scent, the gentle, insipid sound, as it were, of damp tambourines. Next followed an overpowering refrain from theLivarots, and afterwards the Gerome, flavoured with aniseed, kept up thesymphony with a high prolonged note, like that of a vocalist during apause in the accompaniment. 

"I have seen Madame Leonce, " Mademoiselle Saget at last continued, witha significant expression. 

At this the two others became extremely attentive. Madame Leonce was thedoorkeeper of the house where Gavard lived in the Rue de la Cossonnerie. It was an old house standing back, with its ground floor occupied by animporter of oranges and lemons, who had had the frontage coloured blueas high as the first floor. Madame Leonce acted as Gavard's housekeeper, kept the keys of his cupboards and closets, and brought him up tisanewhen he happened to catch cold. She was a severe-looking woman, betweenfifty and sixty years of age, and spoke slowly, but at endless length. Mademoiselle Saget, who went to drink coffee with her every Wednesdayevening, had cultivated her friendship more closely than ever since thepoultry dealer had gone to lodge in the house. They would talk aboutthe worthy man for hours at a time. They both professed the greatestaffection for him, and a keen desire to ensure his comfort andhappiness. 

"Yes, I have seen Madame Leonce, " repeated the old maid. "We had a cupof coffee together last night. She was greatly worried. It seems thatMonsieur Gavard never comes home now before one o'clock in the morning. Last Sunday she took him up some broth, as she thought he looked quiteill. "

"Oh, she knows very well what she's about, " exclaimed Madame Lecoeur, whom these attentions to Gavard somewhat alarmed. 

Mademoiselle Saget felt bound to defend her friend. "Oh, really, you arequite mistaken, " said she. "Madame Leonce is much above her position;she is quite a lady. If she wanted to enrich herself at MonsieurGavard's expense, she might easily have done so long ago. It seems thathe leaves everything lying about in the most careless fashion. It'sabout that, indeed, that I want to speak to you. But you'll not repeatanything I say, will you? I am telling it you in strict confidence. "

Both the others swore that they would never breathe a word of what theymight hear; and they craned out their necks with eager curiosity, whilstthe old maid solemnly resumed: "Well, then, Monsieur Gavard has beenbehaving very strangely of late. He has been buying firearms--a greatbig pistol--one of those which revolve, you know. Madame Leonce saysthat things are awful, for this pistol is always lying about on thetable or the mantelpiece; and she daren't dust anywhere near it. Butthat isn't all. His money--"

"His money!" echoed Madame Lecoeur, with blazing cheeks. 

"Well, he's disposed of all his stocks and shares. He's sold everything, and keeps a great heap of gold in a cupboard. "

"A heap of gold!" exclaimed La Sarriette in ecstasy. 

"Yes, a great heap of gold. It covers a whole shelf, and is quitedazzling. Madame Leonce told me that one morning Gavard opened thecupboard in her presence, and that the money quite blinded her, it shoneso. "

There was another pause. The eyes of the three women were blinking asthough the dazzling pile of gold was before them. Presently La Sarriettebegan to laugh. 

"What a jolly time I would have with Jules if my uncle would give thatmoney to me!" said she. 

Madame Lecoeur, however, seemed quite overwhelmed by this revelation, crushed beneath the weight of the gold which she could not banish fromher sight. Covetous envy thrilled her. But at last, raising her skinnyarms and shrivelled hands, her finger-nails still stuffed with butter, she stammered in a voice full of bitter distress: "Oh, I mustn't thinkof it! It's too dreadful!"

"Well, it would all be yours, you know, if anything were to happen toMonsieur Gavard, " retorted Mademoiselle Saget. "If I were in your place, I would look after my interests. That revolver means nothing good, you may depend upon it. Monsieur Gavard has got into the hands of evilcounsellors; and I'm afraid it will all end badly. "

Then the conversation again turned upon Florent. The three womenassailed him more violently than ever. And afterwards, with perfectcomposure, they began to discuss what would be the result of all thesedark goings-on so far as he and Gavard were concerned; certainly itwould be no pleasant one if there was any gossiping. And thereupon theyswore that they themselves would never repeat a word of what they knew;not, however, because that scoundrel Florent merited any consideration, but because it was necessary, at all costs, to save that worthy MonsieurGavard from being compromised. Then they rose from their seats, andMademoiselle Saget was burning as if to go away when the butter dealerasked her: "All the same, in case of accident, do you think that MadameLeonce can be trusted? I dare say she has the key of the cupboard. "

"Well, that's more than I can tell you, " replied the old maid. "Ibelieve she's a very honest woman; but, after all, there's no telling. There are circumstances, you know, which tempt the best of people. Anyhow, I've warned you both; and you must do what you think proper. "

As the three women stood there, taking leave of each other, the odourof the cheeses seemed to become more pestilential than ever. It was acacophony of smells, ranging from the heavily oppressive odour of theDutch cheeses and the Gruyeres to the alkaline pungency of the Olivets. From the Cantal, the Cheshire, and the goats' milk cheeses there seemedto come a deep breath like the sound of a bassoon, amidst which thesharp, sudden whiffs of the Neufchatels, the Troyes, and the Montd'Ors contributed short, detached notes. And then the different odoursappeared to mingle one with another, the reek of the Limbourgs, the PortSaluts, the Geromes, the Marolles, the Livarots, and the Pont l'Evequesuniting in one general, overpowering stench sufficient to provokeasphyxia. And yet it almost seemed as though it were not the cheeses butthe vile words of Madame Lecoeur and Mademoiselle Saget that diffusedthis awful odour. 

"I'm very much obliged to you, indeed I am, " said the butter dealer. "Ifever I get rich, you shall not find yourself forgotten. "

The old maid still lingered in the stall. Taking up a Bondon, she turnedit round, and put it down on the slab again. Then she asked its price. 

"To me!" she added, with a smile. 

"Oh, nothing to you, " replied Madame Lecoeur. "I'll make you a presentof it. " And again she exclaimed: "Ah, if I were only rich!"

Mademoiselle Saget thereupon told her that some day or other she wouldbe rich. The Bondon had already disappeared within the old maid's bag. And now the butter dealer returned to the cellar, while MademoiselleSaget escorted La Sarriette back to her stall. On reaching it theytalked for a moment or two about Monsieur Jules. The fruits around themdiffused a fresh scent of summer. 

"It smells much nicer here than at your aunt's, " said the old maid. "Ifelt quite ill a little time ago. I can't think how she manages to existthere. But here it's very sweet and pleasant. It makes you look quiterosy, my dear. "

La Sarriette began to laugh, for she was fond of compliments. Then sheserved a lady with a pound of mirabelle plums, telling her that theywere as sweet as sugar. 

"I should like to buy some of those mirabelles too, " murmuredMademoiselle Saget, when the lady had gone away; "only I want so few. Alone woman, you know. "

"Take a handful of them, " exclaimed the pretty brunette. "That won'truin me. Send Jules back to me if you see him, will you? You'll mostlikely find him smoking his cigar on the first bench to the right as youturn out of the covered way. "

Mademoiselle Saget distended her fingers as widely as possible in orderto take a handful of mirabelles, which joined the Bondon in the bag. Then she pretended to leave the market, but in reality made a detour byone of the covered ways, thinking, as she walked slowly along, that themirabelles and Bondon would not make a very substantial dinner. When shewas unable, during her afternoon perambulations, to wheedle stallkeepersinto filling her bag for her, she was reduced to dining off the merestscraps. So she now slyly made her way back to the butter pavilions, where, on the side of the Rue Berger, at the back of the offices of theoyster salesmen, there were some stalls at which cooked meat wassold. Every morning little closed box-like carts, lined with zinc andfurnished with ventilators, drew up in front of the larger Parisiankitchens and carried away the leavings of the restaurants, theembassies, and State Ministries. These leavings were conveyed to themarket cellars and there sorted. By nine o'clock plates of food weredisplayed for sale at prices ranging from three to five sous, theircontents comprising slices of meat, scraps of game, heads and tails offishes, bits of galantine, stray vegetables, and, by way of dessert, cakes scarcely cut into, and other confectionery. Poor starvingwretches, scantily-paid clerks, and women shivering with fever wereto be seen crowding around, and the street lads occasionally amusedthemselves by hooting the pale-faced individuals, known to be misers, who only made their purchases after slyly glancing about them to seethat they were not observed. [*] Mademoiselle Saget wriggled her way toa stall, the keeper of which boasted that the scraps she sold cameexclusively from the Tuileries. One day, indeed, she had induced the oldmaid to buy a slice of leg of mutton by informing that it had come fromthe plate of the Emperor himself; and this slice of mutton, eaten withno little pride, had been a soothing consolation to Mademoiselle Saget'svanity. The wariness of her approach to the stall was, moreover, solelycaused by her desire to keep well with the neighbouring shop people, whose premises she was eternally haunting without ever buying anything. Her usual tactics were to quarrel with them as soon as she had managedto learn their histories, when she would bestow her patronage upon afresh set, desert it in due course, and then gradually make friendsagain with those with whom she had quarrelled. In this way she made thecomplete circuit of the market neighbourhood, ferreting about in everyshop and stall. Anyone would have imagined that she consumed an enormousamount of provisions, whereas, in point of fact, she lived solely uponpresents and the few scraps which she was compelled to buy when peoplewere not in the giving vein. 

 [*] The dealers in these scraps are called _bijoutiers_, or jewellers, whilst the scraps themselves are known as _harlequins_, the idea being that they are of all colours and shapes when mingled together, thus suggesting harlequin's variegated attire. --Translator. 

On that particular evening there was only a tall old man standing infront of the stall. He was sniffing at a plate containing a mixtureof meat and fish. Mademoiselle Saget, in her turn, began to sniff at aplate of cold fried fish. The price of it was three sous, but, by dintof bargaining, she got it for two. The cold fish then vanished into thebag. Other customers now arrived, and with a uniform impulse loweredtheir noses over the plates. The smell of the stall was very disgusting, suggestive alike of greasy dishes and a dirty sink. [*]

 [*] Particulars of the strange and repulsive trade in harlequins, which even nowadays is not extinct, will be found in Privat d'Anglemont's well-known book _Paris Anecdote_, written at the very period with which M. Zola deals in the present work. My father, Henry Vizetelly, also gave some account of it in his _Glances Back through Seventy Years_, in a chapter describing the odd ways in which certain Parisians contrive to get a living. --Translator. 

"Come and see me to-morrow, " the stallkeeper called out to the old maid, "and I'll put something nice on one side for you. There's going to be agrand dinner at the Tuileries to-night. "

Mademoiselle Saget was just promising to come, when, happening to turnround, she discovered Gavard looking at her and listening to what shewas saying. She turned very red, and, contracting her skinny shoulders, hurried away, affecting not to recognise him. Gavard, however, followedher for a few yards, shrugging his shoulders and muttering to himselfthat he was no longer surprised at the old shrew's malice, now heknew that "she poisoned herself with the filth carted away from theTuileries. "

On the very next morning vague rumours began to circulate in themarkets. Madame Lecoeur and La Sarriette were in their own fashionkeeping the oaths of silence they had taken. For her own part, Mademoiselle Saget warily held her tongue, leaving the two others tocirculate the story of Florent's antecedents. At first only a few meagredetails were hawked about in low tones; then various versions of thefacts got into circulation, incidents were exaggerated, and graduallyquite a legend was constructed, in which Florent played the part of aperfect bogey man. He had killed ten gendarmes at the barricade in theRue Greneta, said some; he had returned to France on a pirate ship whosecrew scoured the seas to murder everyone they came across, said others;whilst a third set declared that ever since his arrival he had beenobserved prowling about at nighttime with suspicious-looking characters, of whom he was undoubtedly the leader. Soon the imaginative marketwomen indulged in the highest flights of fancy, revelled in the mostmelodramatic ideas. There was talk of a band of smugglers plying theirnefarious calling in the very heart of Paris, and of a vast centralassociation formed for systematically robbing the stalls in the markets. Much pity was expressed for the Quenu-Gradelles, mingled with maliciousallusions to their uncle's fortune. That fortune was an endless subjectof discussion. The general opinion was that Florent had returnedto claim his share of the treasure; however, as no good reason wasforthcoming to explain why the division had not taken place already, itwas asserted that Florent was waiting for some opportunity whichmight enable him to pocket the whole amount. The Quenu-Gradelles wouldcertainly be found murdered some morning, it was said; and a rumourspread that dreadful quarrels already took place every night between thetwo brothers and beautiful Lisa. 

When these stories reached the ears of the beautiful Norman, sheshrugged her shoulders and burst out laughing. 

"Get away with you!" she cried, "you don't know him. Why, the dearfellow's as gentle as a lamb. "

She had recently refused the hand of Monsieur Lebigre, who had at lastventured upon a formal proposal. For two months past he had given theMehudins a bottle of some liqueur every Sunday. It was Rose who broughtit, and she was always charged with a compliment for La Normande, somepretty speech which she faithfully repeated, without appearing in theslightest degree embarrassed by the peculiar commission. When MonsieurLebigre was rejected, he did not pine, but to show that he took nooffence and was still hopeful, he sent Rose on the following Sunday withtwo bottles of champagne and a large bunch of flowers. She gave theminto the handsome fish-girl's own hands, repeating, as she did so, thewine dealer's prose madrigal:

"Monsieur Lebigre begs you to drink this to his health, which has beengreatly shaken by you know what. He hopes that you will one day bewilling to cure him, by being for him as pretty and as sweet as theseflowers. "

La Normande was much amused by the servant's delighted air. She kissedher as she spoke to her of her master, and asked her if he wore braces, and snored at nights. Then she made her take the champagne and flowersback with her. "Tell Monsieur Lebigre, " said she, "that he's not to sendyou here again. It quite vexes me to see you coming here so meekly, withyour bottles under your arms. "

"Oh, he wishes me to come, " replied Rose, as she went away. "It is wrongof you to distress him. He is a very handsome man. "

La Normande, however, was quite conquered by Florent's affectionatenature. She continued to follow Muche's lessons of an evening in thelamplight, indulging the while in a dream of marrying this man who wasso kind to children. She would still keep her fish stall, while he woulddoubtless rise to a position of importance in the administrative staffof the markets. This dream of hers, however, was scarcely furthered bythe tutor's respectful bearing towards her. He bowed to her, and kepthimself at a distance, when she have liked to laugh with him, and lovehim as she knew how to love. But it was just this covert resistanceon Florent's part which continually brought her back to the dream ofmarrying him. She realised that he lived in a loftier sphere than herown; and by becoming his wife she imagined that her vanity would reap nolittle satisfaction. 

She was greatly surprised when she learned the history of the man sheloved. He had never mentioned a word of those things to her; and shescolded him about it. His extraordinary adventures only increased hertenderness for him, and for evenings together she made him relate allthat had befallen him. She trembled with fear lest the police shoulddiscover him; but he reassured her, saying that the matter was now tooold for the police to trouble their heads about it. One evening he toldher of the woman on the Boulevard Montmartre, the woman in the pinkbonnet, whose blood had dyed his hands. He still frequently thought ofthat poor creature. His anguish-stricken mind had often dwelt upon herduring the clear nights he had passed in Cayenne; and he had returnedto France with a wild dream of meeting her again on some footway in thebright sunshine, even though he could still feel her corpse-like weightacross his legs. And yet, he thought, she might perhaps have recovered. At times he received quite a shock while he was walking through thestreets, on fancying that he recognised her; and he followed pinkbonnets and shawl-draped shoulders with a wildly beating heart. When heclosed his eyes he could see her walking, and advancing towards him;but she let her shawl slip down, showing the two red stains on herchemisette; and then he saw that her face was pale as wax, and thather eyes were blank, and her lips distorted by pain. For a long time hesuffered from not knowing her name, from being forced to look upon heras a mere shadow, whose recollection filled him with sorrow. Wheneverany idea of woman crossed his mind it was always she that rose up beforehim, as the one pure, tender wife. He often found himself fancying thatshe might be looking for him on that boulevard where she had fallendead, and that if she had met him a few seconds sooner she would havegiven him a life of joy. And he wished for no other wife; none otherexisted for him. When he spoke of her, his voice trembled to such adegree that La Normande, her wits quickened by her love, guessed hissecret, and felt jealous. 

"Oh, it's really much better that you shouldn't see her again, " she saidmaliciously. "She can't look particularly nice by this time. "

Florent turned pale with horror at the vision which these words evoked. His love was rotting in her grave. He could not forgive La Normande'ssavage cruelty, which henceforth made him see the grinning jaws andhollow eyes of a skeleton within that lovely pink bonnet. Whenever thefish-girl tried to joke with him on the subject he turned quite angry, and silenced her with almost coarse language. 

That, however, which especially surprised the beautiful Norman inthese revelations was the discovery that she had been quite mistaken insupposing that she was enticing a lover away from handsome Lisa. Thisso diminished her feeling of triumph, that for a week or so her lovefor Florent abated. She consoled herself, however, with the story of theinheritance, no longer calling Lisa a strait-laced prude, but a thiefwho kept back her brother-in-law's money, and assumed sanctimonious airsto deceive people. Every evening, while Muche took his writing lesson, the conversation turned upon old Gradelle's treasure. 

"Did anyone ever hear of such an idea?" the fish-girl would exclaim, with a laugh. "Did the old man want to salt his money, since he putit in a salting-tub? Eighty-five thousand francs! That's a nice sumof money! And, besides, the Quenus, no doubt, lied about it--therewas perhaps two or three times as much. Ah, if I were in your place, Ishouldn't lose any time about claiming my share; indeed I shouldn't. "

"I've no need of anything, " was Florent's invariable answer. "Ishouldn't know what to do with the money if I had it. "

"Oh, you're no man!" cried La Normande, losing all control over herself. "It's pitiful! Can't you see that the Quenus are laughing at you? Thatgreat fat thing passes all her husband's old clothes over to you. I'mnot saying this to hurt your feelings, but everybody makes remarks aboutit. Why, the whole neighbourhood has seen the greasy pair of trousers, which you're now wearing, on your brother's legs for three years andmore! If I were in your place I'd throw their dirty rags in their faces, and insist upon my rights. Your share comes to forty-two thousand fivehundred francs, doesn't it? Well, I shouldn't go out of the place tillI'd got forty-two thousand five hundred francs. "

It was useless for Florent to explain to her that his sister-in-law hadoffered to pay him his share, that she was taking care of it for him, and that it was he himself who had refused to receive it. He enteredinto the most minute particulars, seeking to convince her of the Quenus'honesty, but she sarcastically replied: "Oh, yes, I dare say! I know allabout their honesty. That fat thing folds it up every morning and putsit away in her wardrobe for fear it should get soiled. Really, I quitepity you, my poor friend. It's easy to gull you, for you can't see anyfurther than a child of five. One of these days she'll simply put yourmoney in her pocket, and you'll never look on it again. Shall I go, now, and claim your share for you, just to see what she says? There'd besome fine fun, I can tell you! I'd either have the money, or I'd breakeverything in the house--I swear I would!"

"No, no, it's no business of yours, " Florent replied, quite alarmed. "I'll see about it; I may possibly be wanting some money soon. "

At this La Normande assumed an air of doubt, shrugged her shoulders, andtold him that he was really too chicken-hearted. Her one great aim nowwas to embroil him with the Quenu-Gradelles, and she employed everymeans she could think of to effect her purpose, both anger and banter, as well as affectionate tenderness. She also cherished another design. When she had succeeded in marrying Florent, she would go and administera sound cuffing to beautiful Lisa, if the latter did not yield up themoney. As she lay awake in her bed at night she pictured every detail ofthe scene. She saw herself sitting down in the middle of the pork shopin the busiest part of the day, and making a terrible fuss. She broodedover this idea to such an extent, it obtained such a hold upon her, thatshe would have been willing to marry Florent simply in order to be ableto go and demand old Gradelle's forty-two thousand five hundred francs. 

Old Madame Mehudin, exasperated by La Normande's dismissal of MonsieurLebigre, proclaimed everywhere that her daughter was mad, and that the"long spindle-shanks" must have administered some insidious drug to her. When she learned the Cayenne story, her anger was terrible. She calledFlorent a convict and murderer, and said it was no wonder that hisvillainy had kept him lank and flat. Her versions of Florent's biographywere the most horrible of all that were circulated in the neighbourhood. At home she kept a moderately quiet tongue in her head, and restrictedherself to muttered indignation, and a show of locking up the drawerwhere the silver was kept whenever Florent arrived. One day, however, after a quarrel with her elder daughter, she exclaimed:

"Things can't go on much longer like this! It is that vile man who issetting you against me. Take care that you don't try me too far, or I'llgo and denounce him to the police. I will, as true as I stand here!"

"You'll denounce him!" echoed La Normande, trembling violently, and clenching her fists. "You'd better not! Ah, if you weren't mymother----"

At this, Claire, who was a spectator of the quarrel, began to laugh, with a nervous laughter that seemed to rasp her throat. For some timepast she had been gloomier and more erratic than ever, invariablyshowing red eyes and a pale face. 

"Well, what would you do?" she asked. "Would you give her a cuffing?Perhaps you'd like to give me, your sister, one as well? I dare say itwill end in that. But I'll clear the house of him. I'll go to the policeto save mother the trouble. "

Then, as La Normande almost choked with the angry threats that roseto her throat, the younger girl added: "I'll spare you the exertion ofbeating me. I'll throw myself into the river as I come back over thebridge. "

Big tears were streaming from her eyes; and she rushed off to herbedroom, banging the doors violently behind her. Old Madame Mehudin saidnothing more about denouncing Florent. Muche, however, told La Normandethat he met his grandma talking with Monsieur Lebigre in every corner ofthe neighbourhood. 

The rivalry between the beautiful Norman and the beautiful Lisanow assumed a less aggressive but more disturbing character. In theafternoon, when the red-striped canvas awning was drawn down in frontof the pork shop, the fish-girl would remark that the big fat thing feltafraid, and was concealing herself. She was also much exasperated bythe occasional lowering of the window-blind, on which was pictureda hunting-breakfast in a forest glade, with ladies and gentlemen inevening dress partaking of a red pasty, as big as themselves, on theyellow grass. 

Beautiful Lisa, however, was by no means afraid. As soon as the sunbegan to sink she drew up the blind; and, as she sat knitting behind hercounter, she serenely scanned the market square, where numerous urchinswere poking about in the soil under the gratings which protected theroots of the plane-trees, while porters smoked their pipes on thebenches along the footway, at either end of which was an advertisementcolumn covered with theatrical posters, alternately green, yellow, red, and blue, like some harlequin's costume. And while pretending to watchthe passing vehicles, Lisa would really be scrutinising the beautifulNorman. She might occasionally be seen bending forward, as though hereyes were following the Bastille and Place Wagram omnibus to the PointeSaint Eustache, where it always stopped for a time. But this was only amanoeuvre to enable her to get a better view of the fish-girl, who, asa set-off against the blind, retorted by covering her head and fish withlarge sheets of brown paper, on the pretext of warding off the rays ofthe setting sun. The advantage at present was on Lisa's side, for asthe time for striking the decisive blow approached she manifested thecalmest serenity of bearing, whereas her rival, in spite of all herefforts to attain the same air of distinction, always lapsed into somepiece of gross vulgarity, which she afterwards regretted. La Normande'sambition was to look "like a lady. " Nothing irritated her more than tohear people extolling the good manners of her rival. This weak pointof hers had not escaped old Madame Mehudin's observation, and she nowdirected all her attacks upon it. 

"I saw Madame Quenu standing at her door this evening, " she wouldsay sometimes. "It is quite amazing how well she wears. And she's sorefined-looking, too; quite the lady, indeed. It's the counter that doesit, I'm sure. A fine counter gives a woman such a respectable look. "

In this remark there was a veiled allusion to Monsieur Lebigre'sproposal. The beautiful Norman would make no reply; but for a moment ortwo she would seem deep in thought. In her mind's eye she saw herselfbehind the counter of the wine shop at the other corner of the street, forming a pendent, as it were, to beautiful Lisa. It was this that firstshook her love for Florent. 

To tell the truth, it was now becoming a very difficult thing to defendFlorent. The whole neighbourhood was in arms against him; it seemed asthough everyone had an immediate interest in exterminating him. Some ofthe market people swore that he had sold himself to the police; whileothers asserted that he had been seen in the butter-cellar, attemptingto make holes in the wire grating, with the intention of tossing lightedmatches through them. There was a vast increase of slander, a perfectflood of abuse, the source of which could not be exactly determined. The fish pavilion was the last one to join in the revolt against theinspector. The fish-wives liked Florent on account of his gentleness, and for some time they defended him; but, influenced by the stallkeepersof the butter and fruit pavilions, they at last gave way. Thenhostilities began afresh between these huge, swelling women and thelean and lank inspector. He was lost in the whirl of the voluminouspetticoats and buxom bodices which surged furiously around his scraggyshoulders. However, he understood nothing, but pursued his coursetowards the realisation of his one haunting idea. 

At every hour of the day, and in every corner of the market, Mademoiselle Saget's black bonnet was now to be seen in the midst ofthis outburst of indignation. Her little pale face seemed to multiply. She had sworn a terrible vengeance against the company which assembledin Monsieur Lebigre's little cabinet. She accused them of havingcirculated the story that she lived on waste scraps of meat. The truthwas that old Gavard had told the others one evening that the "oldnanny-goat" who came to play the spy upon them gorged herself with thefilth which the Bonapartist clique tossed away. Clemence felt quite illon hearing this, and Robine hurriedly gulped down a draught of beer, asthough to wash his throat. In Gavard's opinion, the scraps of meatleft on the Emperor's plate were so much political ordure, the putridremnants of all the filth of the reign. Thenceforth the party atMonsieur Lebigre's looked on Mademoiselle Saget as a creature whom noone could touch except with tongs. She was regarded as some uncleananimal that battened upon corruption. Clemence and Gavard circulated thestory so freely in the markets that the old maid found herself seriouslyinjured in her intercourse with the shopkeepers, who unceremoniouslybade her go off to the scrap-stalls when she came to haggle and gossipat their establishments without the least intention of buying anything. This cut her off from her sources of information; and sometimes she wasaltogether ignorant of what was happening. She shed tears of rage, andin one such moment of anger she bluntly said to La Sarriette and MadameLecoeur: "You needn't give me any more hints: I'll settle your Gavard'shash for him now--that I will!"

The two women were rather startled, but refrained from all protestation. The next day, however, Mademoiselle Saget had calmed down, and againexpressed much tender-hearted pity for that poor Monsieur Gavard who wasso badly advised, and was certainly hastening to his ruin. 

Gavard was undoubtedly compromising himself. Ever since the conspiracyhad begun to ripen he had carried the revolver, which caused MadameLeonce so much alarm, in his pocket wherever he went. It was a big, formidable-looking weapon, which he had bought of the principal gunmakerin Paris. He exhibited it to all the women in the poultry market, like aschoolboy who has got some prohibited novel hidden in his desk. First hewould allow the barrel to peer out of his pocket, and call attentionto it with a wink. Then he affected a mysterious reticence, indulged invague hints and insinuations--played, in short, the part of a man whorevelled in feigning fear. The possession of this revolver gavehim immense importance, placed him definitely amongst the dangerouscharacters of Paris. Sometimes, when he was safe inside his stall, hewould consent to take it out of his pocket, and exhibit it to two orthree of the women. He made them stand before him so as to conceal himwith their petticoats, and then he brandished the weapon, cocked thelock, caused the breech to revolve, and took aim at one of the geese orturkeys that were hanging in the stall. He was immensely delighted atthe alarm manifested by the women; but eventually reassured them bystating that the revolver was not loaded. However, he carried a supplyof cartridges about with him, in a case which he opened with the mostelaborate precautions. When he had allowed his friends to feelthe weight of the cartridges, he would again place both weapon andammunition in his pockets. And afterwards, crossing his arms over hisbreast, he would chatter away jubilantly for hours. 

"A man's a man when he's got a weapon like that, " he would say with aswaggering air. "I don't care a fig now for the gendarmes. A friend andI went to try it last Sunday on the plain of Saint Denis. Of course, you know, a man doesn't tell everyone that he's got a plaything of thatsort. But, ah! my dears, we fired at a tree, and hit it every time. Ah, you'll see, you'll see. You'll hear of Anatole one of these days, I cantell you. "

He had bestowed the name of Anatole upon the revolver; and he carriedthings so far that in a week's time both weapon and cartridges wereknown to all the women in the pavilion. His friendship for Florentseemed to them suspicious; he was too sleek and rich to be visited withthe hatred that was manifested towards the inspector; still, he lost theesteem of the shrewder heads amongst his acquaintances, and succeeded interrifying the timid ones. This delighted him immensely. 

"It is very imprudent for a man to carry firearms about with him, " saidMademoiselle Saget. "Monsieur Gavard's revolver will end by playing hima nasty trick. "

Gavard now showed the most jubilant bearing at Monsieur Lebigre's. Florent, since ceasing to take his meals with the Quenus, had comealmost to live in the little "cabinet. " He breakfasted, dined, andconstantly shut himself up there. In fact he had converted the placealmost into a sort of private room of his own, where he left his oldcoats and books and papers lying about. Monsieur Lebigre had offered noobjection to these proceedings; indeed, he had even removed one of thetables to make room for a cushioned bench, on which Florent couldhave slept had he felt so inclined. When the inspector manifested anyscruples about taking advantage of Monsieur Lebigre's kindness, thelatter told him to do as he pleased, saying that the whole house was athis service. Logre also manifested great friendship for him, and evenconstituted himself his lieutenant. He was constantly discussing affairswith him, rendering an account of the steps he was supposed to take, andfurnishing the names of newly affiliated associates. Logre, indeed, hadnow assumed the duties of organiser; on him rested the task of bringingthe various plotters together, forming the different sections, andweaving each mesh of the gigantic net into which Paris was to fall ata given signal. Florent meantime remained the leader, the soul of theconspiracy. 

However, much as the hunchback seemed to toil, he attained noappreciable result. Although he had loudly asserted that in eachdistrict of Paris he knew two or three groups of men as determined andtrustworthy as those who met at Monsieur Lebigre's, he had never yetgiven any precise information about them, but had merely mentioned aname here and there, and recounted stories of endless alleged secretexpeditions, and the wonderful enthusiasm that the people manifestedfor the cause. He made a great point of the hand-grasps he had received. So-and-so, whom he thou'd and thee'd, had squeezed his fingers anddeclared he would join them. At the Gros Caillou a big, burly fellow, who would make a magnificent sectional leader, had almost dislocatedhis arm in his enthusiasm; while in the Rue Popincourt a whole groupof working men had embraced him. He declared that at a day's notice ahundred thousand active supporters could be gathered together. Each timethat he made his appearance in the little room, wearing an exhaustedair, and dropping with apparent fatigue on the bench, he launched intofresh variations of his usual reports, while Florent duly took notes ofwhat he said, and relied on him to realise his many promises. And soonin Florent's pockets the plot assumed life. The notes were looked uponas realities, as indisputable facts, upon which the entire plan of therising was constructed. All that now remained to be done was to waitfor a favourable opportunity, and Logre asserted with passionategesticulations that the whole thing would go on wheels. 

Florent was at last perfectly happy. His feet no longer seemed to treadthe ground; he was borne aloft by his burning desire to pass sentence onall the wickedness he had seen committed. He had all the credulity of alittle child, all the confidence of a hero. If Logre had told him thatthe Genius of Liberty perched on the Colonne de Juillet[*] would havecome down and set itself at their head, he would hardly have expressedany surprise. In the evenings, at Monsieur Lebigre's, he showed greatenthusiasm and spoke effusively of the approaching battle, as though itwere a festival to which all good and honest folks would be invited. Butalthough Gavard in his delight began to play with his revolver, Charvetgot more snappish than ever, and sniggered and shrugged his shoulders. His rival's assumption of the leadership angered him extremely; indeed, quite disgusted him with politics. One evening when, arriving early, he happened to find himself alone with Logre and Lebigre, he franklyunbosomed himself. 

 [*] The column erected on the Place de la Bastille in memory of the Revolution of July 1830, by which Charles X was dethroned. --Translator. 

"Why, " said he, "that fellow Florent hasn't an idea about politics, and would have done far better to seek a berth as writing master in aladies' school! It would be nothing short of a misfortune if he were tosucceed, for, with his visionary social sentimentalities, he would crushus down beneath his confounded working men! It's all that, you know, which ruins the party. We don't need any more tearful sentimentalists, humanitarian poets, people who kiss and slobber over each other for themerest scratch. But he won't succeed! He'll just get locked up, and thatwill be the end of it. "

Logre and the wine dealer made no remark, but allowed Charvet to talk onwithout interruption. 

"And he'd have been locked up long ago, " he continued, "if he wereanything as dangerous as he fancies he is. The airs he puts on justbecause he's been to Cayenne are quite sickening. But I'm sure that thepolice knew of his return the very first day he set foot in Paris, andif they haven't interfered with him it's simply because they hold him incontempt. "

At this Logre gave a slight start. 

"They've been dogging me for the last fifteen years, " resumed theHebertist, with a touch of pride, "but you don't hear me proclaiming itfrom the house-tops. However, he won't catch me taking part in his riot. I'm not going to let myself be nabbed like a mere fool. I dare say he'salready got half a dozen spies at his heels, who will take him by thescruff of the neck whenever the authorities give the word. "

"Oh, dear, no! What an idea!" exclaimed Monsieur Lebigre, who usuallyobserved complete silence. He was rather pale, and looked at Logre, whowas gently rubbing his hump against the partition. 

"That's mere imagination, " murmured the hunchback. 

"Very well; call it imagination, if you like, " replied the tutor; "butI know how these things are arranged. At all events, I don't mean tolet the 'coppers' nab me this time. You others, of course, will pleaseyourselves, but if you take my advice--and you especially, MonsieurLebigre--you'll take care not to let your establishment be compromised, or the authorities will close it. "

At this Logre could not restrain a smile. On several subsequentoccasions Charvet plied him and Lebigre with similar arguments, asthough he wished to detach them from Florent's project by frighteningthem; and he was much surprised at the calmness and confidence whichthey both continued to manifest. For his own part, he still came prettyregularly in the evening with Clemence. The tall brunette was no longera clerk at the fish auctions--Monsieur Manoury had discharged her. 

"Those salesmen are all scoundrels!" Logre growled, when he heard of herdismissal. 

Thereupon Clemence, who, lolling back against the partition, was rollinga cigarette between her long, slim fingers, replied in a sharp voice:"Oh, it's fair fighting! We don't hold the same political views, youknow. That fellow Manoury, who's making no end of money, would lick theEmperor's boots. For my part, if I were an auctioneer, I wouldn't keephim in my service for an hour. "

The truth was that she had been indulging in some clumsy pleasantry, amusing herself one day by inscribing in the sale-book, alongside of thedabs and skate and mackerel sold by auction, the names of some of thebest-known ladies and gentlemen of the Court. This bestowal of piscinenames upon high dignitaries, these entries of the sale of duchessesand baronesses at thirty sous apiece, had caused Monsieur Manoury muchalarm. Gavard was still laughing over it. 

"Well, never mind!" said he, patting Clemence's arm; "you are every incha man, you are!"

Clemence had discovered a new method of mixing her grog. She began byfilling her glass with hot water; and after adding some sugar she pouredthe rum drop by drop upon the slice of lemon floating on the surface, in such wise that it did not mix with the water. Then she lighted it andwith a grave expression watched it blaze, slowly smoking her cigarettewhile the flame of the alcohol cast a greenish tinge over her face. "Grog, " however, was an expensive luxury in which she could not affordto indulge after she had lost her place. Charvet told her, with astrained laugh, that she was no longer a millionaire. She supportedherself by giving French lessons, at a very early hour in the morning, to a young lady residing in the Rue de Miromesnil, who was perfectingher education in secrecy, unknown even to her maid. And so now Clemencemerely ordered a glass of beer in the evenings, but this she drank, itmust be admitted, with the most philosophical composure. 

The evenings in the little sanctum were now far less noisy than they hadbeen. Charvet would suddenly lapse into silence, pale with suppressedrage, when the others deserted him to listen to his rival. The thoughtthat he had been the king of the place, had ruled the whole party withdespotic power before Florent's appearance there, gnawed at his heart, and he felt all the regretful pangs of a dethroned monarch. If hestill came to the meetings, it was only because he could not resist theattraction of the little room where he had spent so many happy hours intyrannising over Gavard and Robine. In those days even Logre's hump hadbeen his property, as well as Alexandre's fleshy arms and Lacaille'sgloomy face. He had done what he liked with them, stuffed his opinionsdown their throats, belaboured their shoulders with his sceptre. Butnow he endured much bitterness of spirit; and ended by quite ceasingto speak, simply shrugging his shoulders and whistling disdainfully, without condescending to combat the absurdities vented in his presence. What exasperated him more than anything else was the gradual way inwhich he had been ousted from his position of predominance withoutbeing conscious of it. He could not see that Florent was in any way hissuperior, and after hearing the latter speak for hours, in his gentleand somewhat sad voice, he often remarked: "Why, the fellow's a parson!He only wants a cassock!"

The others, however, to all appearance eagerly absorbed whatever theinspector said. When Charvet saw Florent's clothes hanging from everypeg, he pretended not to know where he could put his hat so that itwould not be soiled. He swept away the papers that lay about the littleroom, declaring that there was no longer any comfort for anyone inthe place since that "gentleman" had taken possession of it. He evencomplained to the landlord, and asked if the room belonged to a singlecustomer or to the whole company. This invasion of his realm was indeedthe last straw. Men were brutes, and he conceived an unspeakable scornfor humanity when he saw Logre and Monsieur Lebigre fixing their eyes onFlorent with rapt attention. Gavard with his revolver irritated him, andRobine, who sat silent behind his glass of beer, seemed to him to be theonly sensible person in the company, and one who doubtless judgedpeople by their real value, and was not led away by mere words. Asfor Alexandre and Lacaille, they confirmed him in his belief that"the people" were mere fools, and would require at least ten years ofrevolutionary dictatorship to learn how to conduct themselves. 

Logre, however, declared that the sections would soon be completelyorganised; and Florent began to assign the different parts that eachwould have to play. One evening, after a final discussion in which heagain got worsted, Charvet rose up, took his hat, and exclaimed: "Well, I'll wish you all good night. You can get your skulls cracked if itamuses you; but I would have you understand that I won't take any partin the business. I have never abetted anybody's ambition. "

Clemence, who had also risen and was putting on her shawl, coldly added:"The plan's absurd. "

Then, as Robine sat watching their departure with a gentle glance, Charvet asked him if he were not coming with them; but Robine, havingstill some beer left in his glass, contented himself with shaking hands. Charvet and Clemence never returned again; and Lacaille one day informedthe company that they now frequented a beer-house in the Rue Serpente. He had seen them through the window, gesticulating with great energy, inthe midst of an attentive group of very young men. 

Florent was never able to enlist Claude amongst his supporters. Hehad once entertained the idea of gaining him over to his own politicalviews, of making a disciple of him, an assistant in his revolutionarytask; and in order to initiate him he had taken him one evening toMonsieur Lebigre's. Claude, however, spent the whole time in makinga sketch of Robine, in his hat and chestnut cloak, and with his beardresting on the knob of his walking-stick. 

"Really, you know, " he said to Florent, as they came away, "all that youhave been saying inside there doesn't interest me in the least. It maybe very clever, but, for my own part, I see nothing in it. Still, you'vegot a splendid fellow there, that blessed Robine. He's as deep as awell. I'll come with you again some other time, but it won't be forpolitics. I shall make sketches of Logre and Gavard, so as to put themwith Robine in a picture which I was thinking about while you werediscussing the question of--what do you call it? eh? Oh, the questionof the two Chambers. Just fancy, now, a picture of Gavard and Logre andRobine talking politics, entrenched behind their glasses of beer! Itwould be the success of the Salon, my dear fellow, an overwhelmingsuccess, a genuine modern picture!"

Florent was grieved by the artist's political scepticism; so he took himup to his bedroom, and kept him on the narrow balcony in front of thebluish mass of the markets, till two o'clock in the morning, lecturinghim, and telling him that he was no man to show himself so indifferentto the happiness of his country. 

"Well, you're perhaps right, " replied Claude, shaking his head; "I'm anegotist. I can't even say that I paint for the good of my country; for, in the first place, my sketches frighten everybody, and then, when I'mbusy painting, I think about nothing but the pleasure I take in it. WhenI'm painting, it is as though I were tickling myself; it makes me laughall over my body. Well, I can't help it, you know; it's my nature tobe like that; and you can't expect me to go and drown myself inconsequence. Besides, France can get on very well without me, as myaunt Lisa says. And--may I be quite frank with you?--if I like you it'sbecause you seem to me to follow politics just as I follow painting. Youtitillate yourself, my good friend. "

Then, as Florent protested, he continued:

"Yes, yes; you are an artist in your own way; you dream of politics, and I'll wager you spend hours here at night gazing at the stars andimagining they are the voting-papers of infinity. And then you titillateyourself with your ideas of truth and justice; and this is so evidentlythe case that those ideas of yours cause just as much alarm tocommonplace middle-class folks as my sketches do. Between ourselves, now, do you imagine that if you were Robine I should take any pleasurein your friendship? Ah, no, my friend, you are a great poet!"

Then he began to joke on the subject, saying that politics caused him notrouble, and that he had got accustomed to hear people discussing themin beer shops and studios. This led him to speak of a cafe in theRue Vauvilliers; the cafe on the ground-floor of the house where LaSarriette lodged. This smoky place, with its torn, velvet-cushionedseats, and marble table-tops discoloured by the drippings fromcoffee-cups, was the chief resort of the young people of the markets. Monsieur Jules reigned there over a company of porters, apprentices, and gentlemen in white blouses and velvet caps. Two curling "Newgateknockers" were glued against his temples; and to keep his neck white hehad it scraped with a razor every Saturday at a hair-dresser's in theRue des Deux Ecus. At the cafe he gave the tone to his associates, especially when he played billiards with studied airs and graces, showing off his figure to the best advantage. After the game the companywould begin to chat. They were a very reactionary set, taking a delightin the doings of "society. " For his part, Monsieur Jules read thelighter boulevardian newspapers, and knew the performers at the smallertheatres, talked familiarly of the celebrities of the day, and couldalways tell whether the piece first performed the previous evening hadbeen a success or a failure. He had a weakness, however, for politics. His ideal man was Morny, as he curtly called him. He read the reports ofthe discussions of the Corps Legislatif, and laughed with glee over theslightest words that fell from Morny's lips. Ah, Morny was the man tosit upon your rascally republicans! And he would assert that only thescum detested the Emperor, for his Majesty desired that all respectablepeople should have a good time of it. 

"I've been to the cafe occasionally, " Claude said to Florent. "The youngmen there are vastly amusing, with their clay pipes and their talk aboutthe Court balls! To hear them chatter you might almost fancy they wereinvited to the Tuileries. La Sarriette's young man was making great funof Gavard the other evening. He called him uncle. When La Sarriette camedownstairs to look for him she was obliged to pay his bill. It cost hersix francs, for he had lost at billiards, and the drinks they had playedfor were owing. And now, good night, my friend, and pleasant dreams. Ifever you become a Minister, I'll give you some hints on the beautifyingof Paris. "

Florent was obliged to relinquish the hope of making a docile discipleof Claude. This was a source of grief to him, for, blinded though hewas by his fanatical ardour, he at last grew conscious of theever-increasing hostility which surrounded him. Even at the Mehudins' henow met with a colder reception: the old woman would laugh slyly; Mucheno longer obeyed him, and the beautiful Norman cast glances of hastyimpatience at him, unable as she was to overcome his coldness. At theQuenus', too, he had lost Auguste's friendship. The assistant no longercame to see him in his room on the way to bed, being greatly alarmedby the reports which he heard concerning this man with whom he hadpreviously shut himself up till midnight. Augustine had made her loverswear that he would never again be guilty of such imprudence; however, it was Lisa who turned the young man into Florent's determined enemy bybegging him and Augustine to defer their marriage till her cousin shouldvacate the little bedroom at the top of the house, as she did not wantto give that poky dressing-room on the first floor to the new shopgirl whom she would have to engage. From that time forward Auguste wasanxious that the "convict" should be arrested. He had found such apork shop as he had long dreamed of, not at Plaisance certainly, but atMontrouge, a little farther away. And now trade had much improved, andAugustine, with her silly, overgrown girl's laugh, said that she wasquite ready. So every night, whenever some slight noise awoke him, August was thrilled with delight as he imagined that the police were atlast arresting Florent. 

Nothing was said at the Quenu-Gradelles' about all the rumours whichcirculated. There was a tacit understanding amongst the staff of thepork shop to keep silent respecting them in the presence of Quenu. Thelatter, somewhat saddened by the falling-out between his brother and hiswife, sought consolation in stringing his sausages and salting his pork. Sometimes he would come and stand on his door-step, with his red faceglowing brightly above his white apron, which his increasing corpulencestretched quite taut, and never did he suspect all the gossip which hisappearance set on foot in the markets. Some of the women pitied him, andthought that he was losing flesh, though he was, indeed, stouter thanever; while others, on the contrary, reproached him for not having grownthin with shame at having such a brother as Florent. He, however, likeone of those betrayed husbands who are always the last to know whathas befallen them, continued in happy ignorance, displaying alight-heartedness which was quite affecting. He would stop someneighbour's wife on the footway to ask her if she found his brawn ortruffled boar's head to her liking, and she would at once assume asympathetic expression, and speak in a condoling way, as though all thepork on his premises had got jaundice. 

"What do they all mean by looking at me with such a funereal air?" heasked Lisa one day. "Do you think I'm looking ill?"

Lisa, well aware that he was terribly afraid of illness, and groanedand made a dreadful disturbance if he suffered the slightest ailment, reassured him on this point, telling him that he was as blooming asa rose. The fine pork shop, however, was becoming gloomy; the mirrorsseemed to pale, the marbles grew frigidly white, and the cooked meats onthe counter stagnated in yellow fat or lakes of cloudy jelly. One day, even, Claude came into the shop to tell his aunt that the display inthe window looked quite "in the dumps. " This was really the truth. TheStrasburg tongues on their beds of blue paper-shavings had a melancholywhiteness of hue, like the tongues of invalids; and the whilom chubbyhams seemed to be wasting away beneath their mournful green top-knots. Inside the shop, too, when customers asked for a black-pudding or tensous' worth of bacon, or half a pound of lard, they spoke in subdued, sorrowful voices, as though they were in the bed-chamber of a dying man. There were always two or three lachrymose women in front of the chilledheating-pan. Beautiful Lisa meantime discharged the duties of chiefmourner with silent dignity. Her white apron fell more primly than everover her black dress. Her hands, scrupulously clean and closely girdedat the wrists by long white sleevelets, her face with its becoming airof sadness, plainly told all the neighbourhood, all the inquisitivegossips who streamed into the shop from morning to night, that they, theQuenu-Gradelles, were suffering from unmerited misfortune, but that sheknew the cause of it, and would triumph over it at last. And sometimesshe stooped to look at the two gold-fish, who also seemed ill at easeas they swam languidly around the aquarium in the window, and her glanceseemed to promise them better days in the future. 

Beautiful Lisa now only allowed herself one indulgence. She fearlesslypatted Marjolin's satiny chin. The young man had just come out of thehospital. His skull had healed, and he looked as fat and merry as ever;but even the little intelligence he had possessed had left him, he wasnow quite an idiot. The gash in his skull must have reached his brain, for he had become a mere animal. The mind of a child of five dwelt inhis sturdy frame. He laughed and stammered, he could no longer pronouncehis words properly, and he was as submissively obedient as a sheep. Cadine took entire possession of him again; surprised, at first, at thealteration in him, and then quite delighted at having this big fellow todo exactly as she liked with. He was her doll, her toy, her slave inall respects but one: she could not prevent him from going off to MadameQuenu's every now and then. She thumped him, but he did not seem to feelher blows; as soon as she had slung her basket round her neck, and setoff to sell her violets in the Rue du Pont Neuf and the Rue de Turbigo, he went to prowl about in front of the pork shop. 

"Come in!" Lisa cried to him. 

She generally gave him some gherkins, of which he was extremely fond;and he ate them, laughing in a childish way, whilst he stood in front ofthe counter. The sight of the handsome mistress of the shop filled himwith rapture; he often clapped his hands with joy and began to jumpabout and vent little cries of pleasure, like a child delighted atsomething shown to it. On the first few occasions when he came to seeher after leaving the hospital Lisa had feared that he might rememberwhat had happened. 

"Does your head still hurt you?" she asked him. 

But he swayed about and burst into a merry laugh as he answered no; andthen Lisa gently inquired: "You had a fall, hadn't you?"

"Yes, a fall, fall, fall, " he sang, in a happy voice, tapping his skullthe while. 

Then, as though he were in a sort of ecstasy, he continued in lingeringnotes, as he gazed at Lisa, "Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful!" Thisquite touched Madame Quenu. She had prevailed upon Gavard to keep himin his service. It was on the occasions when he so humbly vented hisadmiration that she caressed his chin, and told him that he was a goodlad. He smiled with childish satisfaction, at times closing his eyeslike some domestic pet fondled by its mistress; and Lisa thought toherself that she was making him some compensation for the blow withwhich she had felled him in the cellar of the poultry market. 

However, the Quenus' establishment still remained under a cloud. Florentsometimes ventured to show himself, and shook hands with his brother, while Lisa observed a frigid silence. He even dined with them sometimeson Sundays, at long intervals, and Quenu then made great efforts atgaiety, but could not succeed in imparting any cheerfulness to the meal. He ate badly, and ended by feeling altogether put out. One evening, after one of these icy family gatherings, he said to his wife with tearsin his eyes:

"What can be the matter with me? Is it true that I'm not ill? Don't youreally see anything wrong in my appearance? I feel just as though I'dgot a heavy weight somewhere inside me. And I'm so sad and depressed, too, without in the least knowing why. What can it be, do you think?"

"Oh, a little attack of indigestion, I dare say, " replied Lisa. 

"No, no; it's been going on too long for that; I feel quite crusheddown. Yet the business is going on all right; I've no great worries, andI am leading just the same steady life as ever. But you, too, my dear, don't look well; you seem melancholy. If there isn't a change for thebetter soon, I shall send for the doctor. "

Lisa looked at him with a grave expression. 

"There's no need of a doctor, " she said, "things will soon be all rightagain. There's something unhealthy in the atmosphere just now. All theneighbourhood is unwell. " Then, as if yielding to an impulse of anxiousaffection, she added: "Don't worry yourself, my dear. I can't have youfalling ill; that would be the crowning blow. "

As a rule she sent him back to the kitchen, knowing that the noise ofthe choppers, the tuneful simmering of the fat, and the bubbling of thepans had a cheering effect upon him. In this way, too, she kept him ata distance from the indiscreet chatter of Mademoiselle Saget, who nowspent whole mornings in the shop. The old maid seemed bent on arousingLisa's alarm, and thus driving her to some extreme step. She began bytrying to obtain her confidence. 

"What a lot of mischievous folks there are about!" she exclaimed; "folkswho would be much better employed in minding their own business. If youonly knew, my dear Madame Quenu--but no, really, I should never dare torepeat such things to you. "

And, as Madame Quenu replied that she was quite indifferent to gossip, and that it had no effect upon her, the old maid whispered into her earacross the counter: "Well, people say, you know, that Monsieur Florentisn't your cousin at all. "

Then she gradually allowed Lisa to see that she knew the whole story; byway of proving that she had her quite at her mercy. When Lisa confessedthe truth, equally as a matter of diplomacy, in order that she mighthave the assistance of some one who would keep her well posted in allthe gossip of the neighbourhood, the old maid swore that for her ownpart she would be as mute as a fish, and deny the truth of the reportsabout Florent, even if she were to be led to the stake for it. Andafterwards this drama brought her intense enjoyment; every morning shecame to the shop with some fresh piece of disturbing news. 

"You must be careful, " she whispered one day; "I have just heard twowomen in the tripe market talking about you know what. I can't interruptpeople and tell them they are lying, you know. It would look so strange. But the story's got about, and it's spreading farther every day. Itcan't be stopped now, I fear; the truth will have to come out. "

A few days later she returned to the assault in all earnest. She madeher appearance looking quite scared, and waited impatiently till therewas no one in the shop, when she burst out in her sibilant voice:

"Do you know what people are saying now? Well, they say that all thosemen who meet at Monsieur Lebigre's have got guns, and are going tobreak out again as they did in '48. It's quite distressing to see sucha worthy man as Monsieur Gavard--rich, too, and so respectable--leaguinghimself with such scoundrels! I was very anxious to let you know, onaccount of your brother-in-law. "

"Oh, it's mere nonsense, I'm sure; it can't be serious, " rejoined Lisa, just to incite the old maid to tell her more. 

"Not serious, indeed! Why, when one passes along the Rue Pirouette inthe evening one can hear them screaming out in the most dreadful way. Oh! they make no mystery of it all. You know yourself how they tried tocorrupt your husband. And the cartridges which I have seen them makingfrom my own window, are they mere nonsense? Well, well, I'm only tellingyou this for your own good. "

"Oh! I'm sure of that, and I'm very much obliged to you, " replied Lisa;"but people do invent such stories, you know. "

"Ah, but this is no invention, unfortunately. The whole neighbourhood istalking of it. It is said, too, that if the police discover the matterthere will be a great many people compromised--Monsieur Gavard, forinstance. "

Madame Quenu shrugged her shoulders as though to say that MonsieurGavard was an old fool, and that it would do him good to be locked up. 

"Well, I merely mention Monsieur Gavard as I might mention any of theothers, your brother-in-law, for instance, " resumed the old maid with awily glance. "Your brother-in-law is the leader, it seems. That's veryannoying for you, and I'm very sorry indeed; for if the police were tomake a descent here they might march Monsieur Quenu off as well. Twobrothers, you know, they're like two fingers of the same hand. "

Beautiful Lisa protested against this, but she turned very pale, forMademoiselle Saget's last thrust had touched a vulnerable point. Fromthat day forward the old maid was ever bringing her stories of innocentpeople who had been thrown into prison for extending hospitality tocriminal scoundrels. In the evening, when La Saget went to get herblack-currant syrup at the wine dealer's, she prepared her budget forthe next morning. Rose was but little given to gossiping, and the oldmain reckoned chiefly on her own eyes and ears. She had been struck byMonsieur Lebigre's extremely kind and obliging manner towards Florent, his eagerness to keep him at his establishment, all the politecivilities, for which the little money which the other spent in thehouse could never recoup him. And this conduct of Monsieur Lebigre'ssurprised her the more as she was aware of the position in which the twomen stood in respect to the beautiful Norman. 

"It looks as though Lebigre were fattening him up for sale, " shereflected. "Whom can he want to sell him to, I wonder?"

One evening when she was in the bar she saw Logre fling himself on thebench in the sanctum, and heard him speak of his perambulations throughthe faubourgs, with the remark that he was dead beat. She cast a hastyglance at his feet, and saw that there was not a speck of dust on hisboots. Then she smiled quietly, and went off with her black-currantsyrup, her lips closely compressed. 

She used to complete her budget of information on getting back to herwindow. It was very high up, commanding a view of all the neighbouringhouses, and proved a source of endless enjoyment to her. She wasconstantly installed at it, as though it were an observatory from whichshe kept watch upon everything that went on in the neighbourhood. Shewas quite familiar with all the rooms opposite her, both on the rightand the left, even to the smallest details of their furniture. She couldhave described, without the least omission, the habits of their tenants, have related if the latter's homes were happy or the contrary, have toldwhen and how they washed themselves, what they had for dinner, andwho it was that came to see them. Then she obtained a side view of themarkets, and not a woman could walk along the Rue Rambuteau withoutbeing seen by her; and she could have correctly stated whence the womanhad come and whither she was going, what she had got in her basket, and, in short, every detail about her, her husband, her clothes, herchildren, and her means. "That's Madame Loret, over there; she's givingher son a fine education; that's Madame Hutin, a poor little woman who'sdreadfully neglected by her husband; that's Mademoiselle Cecile, the butcher's daughter, a girl that no one will marry becauseshe's scrofulous. " In this way she could have continued jerking outbiographical scraps for days together, deriving extraordinary amusementfrom the most trivial, uninteresting incidents. However, as soon aseight o'clock struck, she only had eyes for the frosted "cabinet" windowon which appeared the black shadows of the coterie of politicians. Shediscovered the secession of Charvet and Clemence by missing their bonysilhouettes from the milky transparency. Not an incident occurred inthat room but she sooner or later learnt it by some sudden motion ofthose silent arms and heads. She acquired great skill in interpretation, and could divine the meaning of protruding noses, spreading fingers, gaping mouths, and shrugging shoulders; and in this way she followedthe progress of the conspiracy step by step, in such wise that she couldhave told day by day how matters stood. One evening the terrible outcomeof it all was revealed to her. She saw the shadow of Gavard's revolver, a huge silhouette with pointed muzzle showing very blackly against theglimmering window. It kept appearing and disappearing so rapidly that itseemed as though the room was full of revolvers. Those were the firearmsof which Mademoiselle Saget had spoken to Madame Quenu. On anotherevening she was much puzzled by the sight of endless lengths of somematerial or other, and came to the conclusion that the men must bemanufacturing cartridges. The next morning, however, she made herappearance in the wine shop by eleven o'clock, on the pretext of askingRose if she could let her have a candle, and, glancing furtively intothe little sanctum, she espied a heap of red material lying on thetable. This greatly alarmed her, and her next budget of news was one ofdecisive gravity. 

"I don't want to alarm you, Madame Quenu, " she said, "but matters arereally looking very serious. Upon my word, I'm quite alarmed. You muston no account repeat what I am going to confide to you. They wouldmurder me if they knew I had told you. "

Then, when Lisa had sworn to say nothing that might compromise her, shetold her about the red material. 

"I can't think what it can be. There was a great heap of it. It lookedjust like rags soaked in blood. Logre, the hunchback, you know, put oneof the pieces over his shoulder. He looked like a headsman. You may besure this is some fresh trickery or other. "

Lisa made no reply, but seemed deep in thought whilst with lowered eyes, she handled a fork and mechanically arranged some piece of salt pork ona dish. 

"If I were you, " resumed Mademoiselle Saget softly, "I shouldn't be easyin mind; I should want to know the meaning of it all. Why shouldn't yougo upstairs and examine your brother-in-law's bedroom?"

At this Lisa gave a slight start, let the fork drop, and glanceduneasily at the old maid, believing that she had discovered herintentions. But the other continued: "You would certainly be justifiedin doing so. There's no knowing into what danger your brother-in-law maylead you, if you don't put a check on him. They were talking about youyesterday at Madame Taboureau's. Ah! you have a most devoted friend inher. Madame Taboureau said that you were much too easy-going, and thatif she were you she would have put an end to all this long ago. "

"Madame Taboureau said that?" murmured Lisa thoughtfully. 

"Yes, indeed she did; and Madame Taboureau is a woman whose advice isworth listening to. Try to find out the meaning of all those red bands;and if you do, you'll tell me, won't you?"

Lisa, however, was no longer listening to her. She was gazingabstractedly at the edible snails and Gervais cheeses between thefestoons of sausages in the window. She seemed absorbed in a mentalconflict, which brought two little furrows to her brow. The old maid, however, poked her nose over the dishes on the counter. 

"Ah, some slices of saveloy!" she muttered, as though she werespeaking to herself. "They'll get very dry cut up like that. And thatblack-pudding's broken, I see--a fork's been stuck into it, I expect. Itmight be taken away--it's soiling the dish. "

Lisa, still absent-minded, gave her the black-pudding and slices ofsaveloy. "You may take them, " she said, "if you would care for them. "

The black bag swallowed them up. Mademoiselle Saget was so accustomedto receiving presents that she had actually ceased to return thanks forthem. Every morning she carried away all the scraps of the pork shop. And now she went off with the intention of obtaining her dessert from LaSarriette and Madame Lecoeur, by gossiping to them about Gavard. 

When Lisa was alone again she installed herself on the bench, behind thecounter, as though she thought she would be able to come to a sounderdecision if she were comfortably seated. For the last week she hadbeen very anxious. Florent had asked Quenu for five hundred francs oneevening, in the easy, matter-of-course way of a man who had money lyingto his credit at the pork shop. Quenu referred him to his wife. Thiswas distasteful to Florent, who felt somewhat uneasy on applying tobeautiful Lisa. But she immediately went up to her bedroom, broughtthe money down and gave it to him, without saying a word, or making theleast inquiry as to what he intended to do with it. She merely remarkedthat she had made a note of the payment on the paper containing theparticulars of Florent's share of the inheritance. Three days later hetook a thousand francs. 

"It was scarcely worth while trying to make himself out sodisinterested, " Lisa said to Quenu that night, as they went to bed. "Idid quite right, you see, in keeping the account. By the way, I haven'tnoted down the thousand francs I gave him to-day. "

She sat down at the secretaire, and glanced over the page of figures. Then she added: "I did well to leave a blank space. I'll put down whatI pay him on the margin. You'll see, now, he'll fritter it all away bydegrees. That's what I've been expecting for a long time past. "

Quenu said nothing, but went to bed feeling very much put out. Everytime that his wife opened the secretaire the drawer gave out a mournfulcreak which pierced his heart. He even thought of remonstrating withhis brother, and trying to prevent him from ruining himself with theMehudins; but when the time came, he did not dare to do it. Two dayslater Florent asked for another fifteen hundred francs. Logre had saidone evening that things would ripen much faster if they could only getsome money. The next day he was enchanted to find these words of his, uttered quite at random, result in the receipt of a little pile ofgold, which he promptly pocketed, sniggering as he did so, and his hunchfairly shaking with delight. From that time forward money was constantlybeing needed: one section wished to hire a room where they could meet, while another was compelled to provide for various needy patriots. Thenthere were arms and ammunition to be purchased, men to be enlisted, andprivate police expenses. Florent would have paid for anything. Hehad bethought himself of Uncle Gradelle's treasure, and recalled LaNormande's advice. So he made repeated calls upon Lisa's secretaire, being merely kept in check by the vague fear with which hissister-in-law's grave face inspired him. Never, thought he, couldhe have spent his money in a holier cause. Logre now manifestedthe greatest enthusiasm, and wore the most wonderful rose-colouredneckerchiefs and the shiniest of varnished boots, the sight of whichmade Lacaille glower blackly. 

"That makes three thousand francs in seven days, " Lisa remarked toQuenu. "What do you think of that? A pretty state of affairs, isn'tit? If he goes on at this rate his fifty thousand francs will last himbarely four months. And yet it took old Gradelle forty years to put hisfortune together!"

"It's all your own fault!" cried Quenu. "There was no occasion for youto say anything to him about the money. "

Lisa gave her husband a severe glance. "It is his own, " she said; "andhe is entitled to take it all. It's not the giving him the money thatvexes me, but the knowledge that he must make a bad use of it. I tellyou again, as I have been telling you for a long time past, all thismust come to an end. "

"Do whatever you like; I won't prevent you, " at last exclaimed the porkbutcher, who was tortured by his cupidity. 

He still loved his brother; but the thought of fifty thousand francssquandered in four months was agony to him. As for his wife, after allMademoiselle Saget's chattering she guessed what became of the money. The old maid having ventured to refer to the inheritance, Lisa had takenadvantage of the opportunity to let the neighbourhood know that Florentwas drawing his share, and spending it after his own fashion. 

It was on the following day that the story of the strips of red materialimpelled Lisa to take definite actin. For a few moments she remainedstruggling with herself whilst gazing at the depressed appearance of theshop. The sides of pork hung all around in a sullen fashion, and Mouton, seated beside a bowl of fat, displayed the ruffled coat and dim eyes ofa cat who no longer digests his meals in peace. Thereupon Lisa called toAugustine and told her to attend to the counter, and she herself went upto Florent's room. 

When she entered it, she received quite a shock. The bed, hitherto sospotless, was quite ensanguined by a bundle of long red scarves danglingdown to the floor. On the mantelpiece, between the gilt cardboard boxesand the old pomatum-pots, were several red armlets and clusters of redcockades, looking like pools of blood. And hanging from every nail andpeg against the faded grey wallpaper were pieces of bunting, squareflags--yellow, blue, green, and black--in which Lisa recognised thedistinguishing banners of the twenty sections. The childish simplicityof the room seemed quite scared by all this revolutionary decoration. The aspect of guileless stupidity which the shop girl had left behindher, the white innocence of the curtains and furniture, now glaredas with the reflection of a fire; while the photograph of Augusteand Augustine looked white with terror. Lisa walked round the room, examining the flags, the armlets, and the scarves, without touching anyof them, as though she feared that the dreadful things might burn her. She was reflecting that she had not been mistaken, that it was indeed onthese and similar things that Florent's money had been spent. And to herthis seemed an utter abomination, an incredibility which set her wholebeing surging with indignation. To think that her money, that moneywhich had been so honestly earned, was being squandered to organise anddefray the expenses of an insurrection!

She stood there, gazing at the expanded blossoms of the pomegranate onthe balcony--blossoms which seemed to her like an additional supply ofcrimson cockades--and listening to the sharp notes of the chaffinch, which resembled the echo of a distant fusillade. And then it struck herthat the insurrection might break out the next day, or perhaps that veryevening. She fancied she could see the banners streaming in the air andthe scarves advancing in line, while a sudden roll of drums broke on herear. Then she hastily went downstairs again, without even glancingat the papers which were lying on the table. She stopped on the firstfloor, went into her own room, and dressed herself. 

In this critical emergency Lisa arranged her hair with scrupulous careand perfect calmness. She was quite resolute; not a quiver of hesitationdisturbed her; but a sterner expression than usual had come into hereyes. As she fastened her black silk dress, straining the waistband withall the strength of her fingers, she recalled Abbe Roustan's words; andshe questioned herself, and her conscience answered that she was goingto fulfil a duty. By the time she drew her broidered shawl round herbroad shoulders, she felt that she was about to perform a deed of highmorality. She put on a pair of dark mauve gloves, secured a thickveil to her bonnet; and before leaving the room she double-locked thesecretaire, with a hopeful expression on her face which seemed to saythat that much worried piece of furniture would at last be able to sleepin peace again. 

Quenu was exhibiting his white paunch at the shop door when his wifecame down. He was surprised to see her going out in full dress at teno'clock in the morning. "Hallo! Where are you off to?" he asked. 

She pretended that she was going out with Madame Taboureau, and addedthat she would call at the Gaite Theatre to buy some tickets. Quenuhurried after her to tell her to secure some front seats, so that theymight be able to see well. Then, as he returned to the shop, Lisa madeher way to the cab-stand opposite St. Eustache, got into a cab, pulleddown the blinds, and told the driver to go to the Gaite Theatre. Shefelt afraid of being followed. When she had booked two seats, however, she directed the cabman to drive her to the Palais de Justice. There, in front of the gate, she discharged him, and then quietly made her waythrough the halls and corridors to the Prefecture of Police. 

She soon lost herself in a noisy crowd of police officers and gentlemenin long frock-coats, but at last gave a man half a franc to guide her tothe Prefect's rooms. She found, however, that the Prefect only receivedsuch persons as came with letters of audience; and she was shown into asmall apartment, furnished after the style of a boarding-house parlour. A fat, bald-headed official, dressed in black from head to foot, received her there with sullen coldness. What was her business? heinquired. Thereupon she raised her veil, gave her name, and told herstory, clearly and distinctly, without a pause. The bald man listenedwith a weary air. 

"You are this man's sister-in-law, are you not?" he inquired, when shehad finished. 

"Yes, " Lisa candidly replied. "We are honest, straight-forward people, and I am anxious that my husband should not be compromised. "

The official shrugged his shoulders, as though to say that the wholeaffair was a great nuisance. 

"Do you know, " he said impatiently, "that I have been pestered with thisbusiness for more than a year past? Denunciation after denunciation hasbeen sent to me, and I am being continually goaded and pressed to takeaction. You will understand that if I haven't done so as yet, it isbecause I prefer to wait. We have good reasons for our conduct in thematter. Stay, now, here are the papers relating to it. I'll let you seethem. "

He laid before her an immense collection of papers in a blue wrapper. Lisa turned them over. They were like detached chapters of the story shehad just been relating. The commissaires of police at Havre, Rouen, andVernon notified Florent's arrival within their respective jurisdictions. Then came a report which announced that he had taken up his residencewith the Quenu-Gradelles. Next followed his appointment at the markets, an account of his mode of life, the spending of his evenings at MonsieurLebigre's; not a detail was deficient. Lisa, quite astounded as shewas, noticed that the reports were in duplicate, so that they must haveemanated from two different sources. And at last she came upon a pile ofletters, anonymous letters of every shape, and in every description ofhandwriting. They brought her amazement to a climax. In one letter sherecognised the villainous hand of Mademoiselle Saget, denouncing thepeople who met in the little sanctum at Lebigre's. On a large piece ofgreasy paper she identified the heavy pot-hooks of Madame Lecoeur;and there was also a sheet of cream-laid note-paper, ornamented with ayellow pansy, and covered with the scrawls of La Sarriette and MonsieurJules. These two letters warned the Government to beware of Gavard. Farther on Lisa recognised the coarse style of old Madame Mehudin, whoin four pages of almost indecipherable scribble repeated all the wildstories about Florent that circulated in the markets. However, whatstartled her more than anything else was the discovery of a bill-headof her own establishment, with the inscription _Quenu-Gradelle, PorkButcher_, on its face, whilst on the back of it Auguste had penneda denunciation of the man whom he looked upon as an obstacle to hismarriage. 

The official had acted upon a secret idea in placing these papers beforeher. "You don't recognise any of these handwritings, do you?" he asked. 

"No, " she stammered, rising from her seat, quite oppressed by what shehad just learned; and she hastily pulled down her veil again to concealthe blush of confusion which was rising to her cheeks. Her silk dressrustled, and her dark gloves disappeared beneath her heavy shawl. 

"You see, madame, " said the bald man with a faint smile, "yourinformation comes a little late. But I promise you that your visit shallnot be forgotten. And tell your husband not to stir. It is possible thatsomething may happen soon that----"

He did not complete his sentence, but, half rising from his armchair, made a slight bow to Lisa. It was a dismissal, and she took her leave. In the ante-room she caught sight of Logre and Monsieur Lebigre, whohastily turned their faces away; but she was more disturbed than theywere. She went her way through the halls and along the corridors, feeling as if she were in the clutches of this system of police which, it now seemed to her, saw and knew everything. At last she came out uponthe Place Dauphine. When she reached the Quai de l'Horloge she slackenedher steps, and felt refreshed by the cool breeze blowing from the Seine. 

She now had a keen perception of the utter uselessness of what she haddone. Her husband was in no danger whatever; and this thought, whilst relieving her, left her a somewhat remorseful feeling. Shewas exasperated with Auguste and the women who had put her in such aridiculous position. She walked on yet more slowly, watching the Seineas it flowed past. Barges, black with coal-dust, were floating down thegreenish water; and all along the bank anglers were casting their lines. After all, it was not she who had betrayed Florent. This reflectionsuddenly occurred to her and astonished her. Would she have been guiltyof a wicked action, then, if she had been his betrayer? She was quiteperplexed; surprised at the possibility of her conscience havingdeceived her. Those anonymous letters seemed extremely base. She herselfhad gone openly to the authorities, given her name, and saved innocentpeople from being compromised. Then at the sudden thought of oldGradelle's fortune she again examined herself, and felt ready to throwthe money into the river if such a course should be necessary toremove the blight which had fallen on the pork shop. No, she was notavaricious, she was sure she wasn't; it was no thought of money thathad prompted her in what she had just done. As she crossed the Pont auChange she grew quite calm again, recovering all her superb equanimity. On the whole, it was much better, she felt, that others should haveanticipated her at the Prefecture. She would not have to deceive Quenu, and she would sleep with an easier conscience. 

"Have you booked the seats?" Quenu asked her when she returned home. 

He wanted to see the tickets, and made Lisa explain to him the exactposition the seats occupied in the dress-circle. Lisa had imaginedthat the police would make a descent upon the house immediately afterreceiving her information, and her proposal to go to the theatre hadonly been a wily scheme for getting Quenu out of the way while theofficers were arresting Florent. She had contemplated taking him foran outing in the afternoon--one of those little jaunts which theyoccasionally allowed themselves. They would then drive in an open cab tothe Bois de Boulogne, dine at a restaurant, and amuse themselves for anhour or two at some cafe concern. But there was no need to go out now, she thought; so she spent the rest of the day behind her counter, witha rosy glow on her face, and seeming brighter and gayer, as though shewere recovering from some indisposition. 

"You see, I told you it was fresh air you wanted!" exclaimed Quenu. "Your walk this morning has brightened you up wonderfully!"

"No, indeed, " she said after a pause, again assuming her look ofseverity; "the streets of Paris are not at all healthy places. "

In the evening they went to the Gaite to see the performance of "LaGrace de Dieu. " Quenu, in a frock-coat and drab gloves, with his haircarefully pomatumed and combed, was occupied most of the time in huntingfor the names of the performers in the programme. Lisa looked superbin her low dress as she rested her hands in their tight-fitting whitegloves on the crimson velvet balustrade. They were both of them deeplyaffected by the misfortunes of Marie. The commander, they thought, wascertainly a desperate villain; while Pierrot made them laugh from thefirst moment of his appearance on the stage. But at last Madame Quenucried. The departure of the child, the prayer in the maiden's chamber, the return of the poor mad creature, moistened her eyes with gentletears, which she brushed away with her handkerchief. 

However, the pleasure which the evening afforded her turned into afeeling of triumph when she caught sight of La Normande and her mothersitting in the upper gallery. She thereupon puffed herself out more thanever, sent Quenu off to the refreshment bar for a box of caramels, andbegan to play with her fan, a mother-of-pearl fan, elaborately gilt. The fish-girl was quite crushed; and bent her head down to listen toher mother, who was whispering to her. When the performance was overand beautiful Lisa and the beautiful Norman met in the vestibule theyexchanged a vague smile. 

Florent had dined early at Monsieur Lebigre's that day. He was expectingLogre, who had promised to introduce to him a retired sergeant, acapable man, with whom they were to discuss the plan of attack upon thePalais Bourbon and the Hotel de Ville. The night closed in, and thefine rain, which had begun to fall in the afternoon, shrouded the vastmarkets in a leaden gloom. They loomed darkly against the copper-tintedsky, while wisps of murky cloud skimmed by almost on a level with theroofs, looking as though they were caught and torn by the points of thelightning-conductors. Florent felt depressed by the sight of the muddystreets, and the streaming yellowish rain which seemed to sweep thetwilight away and extinguish it in the mire. He watched the crowds ofpeople who had taken refuge on the foot-pavements of the covered ways, the umbrellas flitting past in the downpour, and the cabs that dashedwith increased clatter and speed along the wellnigh deserted roads. Presently there was a rift in the clouds; and a red glow arose in thewest. Then a whole army of street-sweepers came into sight at the end ofthe Rue Montmartre, driving a lake of liquid mud before them with theirbrooms. 

Logre did not turn up with the sergeant; Gavard had gone to dine withsome friends at Batignolles, and so Florent was reduced to spending theevening alone with Robine. He had all the talking to himself, and endedby feeling very low-spirited. His companion merely wagged his beard, andstretched out his hand every quarter of an hour to raise his glass ofbeer to his lips. At last Florent grew so bored that he went off tobed. Robine, however, though left to himself, still lingered there, contemplating his glass with an expression of deep thought. Rose and thewaiter, who had hoped to shut up early, as the coterie of politicianswas absent, had to wait a long half hour before he at last made up hismind to leave. 

When Florent got to his room, he felt afraid to go to bed. He wassuffering from one of those nervous attacks which sometimes plunged himinto horrible nightmares until dawn. On the previous day he had been toClamart to attend the funeral of Monsieur Verlaque, who had died afterterrible sufferings; and he still felt sad at the recollection of thenarrow coffin which he had seen lowered into the earth. Nor could hebanish from his mind the image of Madame Verlaque, who, with a tearfulvoice, though there was not a tear in her eyes, kept following him andspeaking to him about the coffin, which was not paid for, and of thecost of the funeral, which she was quite at a loss about, as she hadnot a copper in the place, for the druggist, on hearing of her husband'sdeath on the previous day, had insisted upon his bill being paid. SoFlorent had been obliged to advance the money for the coffin and otherfuneral expenses, and had even given the gratuities to the mutes. Just as he was going away, Madame Verlaque looked at him with such aheartbroken expression that he left her twenty francs. 

And now Monsieur Verlaque's death worried him very much. It affectedhis situation in the markets. He might lose his berth, or perhapsbe formally appointed inspector. In either case he foresaw vexatiouscomplications which might arouse the suspicions of the police. He wouldhave been delighted if the insurrection could have broken out the verynext day, so that he might at once have tossed the laced cap of hisinspectorship into the streets. With his mind full of harassing thoughtslike these, he stepped out upon the balcony, as though soliciting of thewarm night some whiff of air to cool his fevered brow. The rain hadlaid the wind, and a stormy heat still reigned beneath the deep blue, cloudless heavens. The markets, washed by the downpour, spread out belowhim, similar in hue to the sky, and, like the sky, studded with theyellow stars of their gas lamps. 

Leaning on the iron balustrade, Florent recollected that sooner or laterhe would certainly be punished for having accepted the inspectorship. Itseemed to lie like a stain on his life. He had become an official of thePrefecture, forswearing himself, serving the Empire in spite of allthe oaths he had taken in his exile. His anxiety to please Lisa, thecharitable purpose to which he had devoted the salary he received, thejust and scrupulous manner in which he had always struggled to carryout his duties, no longer seemed to him valid excuses for his baseabandonment of principle. If he had suffered in the midst of all thatsleek fatness, he had deserved to suffer. And before him arose avision of the evil year which he had just spent, his persecution by thefish-wives, the sickening sensations he had felt on close, damp days, the continuous indigestion which had afflicted his delicate stomach, andthe latent hostility which was gathering strength against him. All thesethings he now accepted as chastisement. That dull rumbling of hostilityand spite, the cause of which he could not divine, must forebode somecoming catastrophe before whose approach he already stooped, with theshame of one who knows there is a transgression that he must expiate. Then he felt furious with himself as he thought of the popular rising hewas preparing; and reflected that he was no longer unsullied enough toachieve success. 

In how many dreams he had indulged in that lofty little room, with hiseyes wandering over the spreading roofs of the market pavilions! Theyusually appeared to him like grey seas that spoke to him of far-offcountries. On moonless nights they would darken and turn into stagnantlakes of black and pestilential water. But on bright nights they becameshimmering fountains of light, the moonbeams streaming over both tierslike water, gliding along the huge plates of zinc, and flowing over theedges of the vast superposed basins. Then frosty weather seemed to turnthese roofs into rigid ice, like the Norwegian bays over which skatersskim; while the warm June nights lulled them into deep sleep. OneDecember night, on opening his window, he had seen them white with snow, so lustrously white that they lighted up the coppery sky. Unsullied bya single footstep, they then stretched out like the lonely plains of theFar North, where never a sledge intrudes. Their silence was beautiful, their soft peacefulness suggestive of innocence. 

And at each fresh aspect of the ever-changing panorama before him, Florent yielded to dreams which were now sweet, now full of bitter pain. The snow calmed him; the vast sheet of whiteness seemed to him like aveil of purity thrown over the filth of the markets. The bright, clearnights, the shimmering moonbeams, carried him away into the fairy-landof story-books. It was only the dark, black nights, the burning nightsof June, when he beheld, as it were, a miasmatic marsh, the stagnantwater of a dead and accursed sea, that filled him with gloom and grief;and then ever the same dreadful visions haunted his brain. 

The markets were always there. He could never open the window and resthis elbows on the balustrade without having them before him, fillingthe horizon. He left the pavilions in the evening only to behold theirendless roofs as he went to bed. They shut him off from the rest ofParis, ceaselessly intruded their huge bulk upon him, entered into everyhour of his life. That night again horrible fancies came to him, fanciesaggravated by the vague forebodings of evil which distressed him. Therain of the afternoon had filled the markets with malodorous dampness, and as they wallowed there in the centre of the city, like some drunkenman lying, after his last bottle, under the table, they cast all theirfoul breath into his face. He seemed to see a thick vapour rising upfrom each pavilion. In the distance the meat and tripe markets reekedwith the sickening steam of blood; nearer in, the vegetable and fruitpavilions diffused the odour of pungent cabbages, rotten apples, anddecaying leaves; the butter and cheese exhaled a poisonous stench; fromthe fish market came a sharp, fresh gust; while from the ventilator inthe tower of the poultry pavilion just below him, he could see a warmsteam issuing, a fetid current rising in coils like the sooty smoke froma factory chimney. And all these exhalations coalesced above the roofs, drifted towards the neighbouring houses, and spread themselves out ina heavy cloud which stretched over the whole of Paris. It was as thoughthe markets were bursting within their tight belt of iron, were beatingthe slumber of the gorged city with the stertorous fumes of theirmidnight indigestion. 

However, on the footway down below Florent presently heard a sound ofvoices, the laughter of happy folks. Then the door of the passage wasclosed noisily. It was Quenu and Lisa coming home from the theatre. Stupefied and intoxicated, as it were, by the atmosphere he wasbreathing, Florent thereupon left the balcony, his nerves stillpainfully excited by the thought of the tempest which he could feelgathering round his head. The source of his misery was yonder, inthose markets, heated by the day's excesses. He closed the window withviolence, and left them wallowing in the darkness, naked and perspiringbeneath the stars. 

CHAPTER VI

A week later, Florent thought that he would at last be able to proceedto action. A sufficiently serious outburst of public dissatisfactionfurnished an opportunity for launching his insurrectionary forcesupon Paris. The Corps Legislatif, whose members had lately shown greatvariance of opinion respecting certain grants to the Imperial family, was now discussing a bill for the imposition of a very unpopular tax, atwhich the lower orders had already begun to growl. The Ministry, fearinga defeat, was straining every nerve. It was probable, thought Florent, that no better pretext for a rising would for a long time presentitself. 

One morning, at daybreak, he went to reconnoitre the neighbourhood ofthe Palais Bourbon. He forgot all about his duties as inspector, andlingered there, studying the approaches of the palace, till eighto'clock, without ever thinking that his absence would revolutionise thefish market. He perambulated all the surrounding streets, the Rue deLille, the Rue de l'Universite, the Rue de Bourgogne, the Rue SaintDominique, and even extended his examination to the Esplanade desInvalides, stopping at certain crossways, and measuring distances as hewalked along. Then, on coming back to the Quai d'Orsay, he sat downon the parapet, and determined that the attack should be madesimultaneously from all sides. The contingents from the Gros-Cailloudistrict should arrive by way of the Champ de Mars; the sections fromthe north of Paris should come down by the Madeleine; while those fromthe west and the south would follow the quays, or make their way insmall detachments through the then narrow streets of the Faubourg SaintGermain. However, the other side of the river, the Champs Elysees, withtheir open avenues, caused him some uneasiness; for he foresaw thatcannon would be stationed there to sweep the quays. He thereuponmodified several details of his plan, and marked down in amemorandum-book the different positions which the several sectionsshould occupy during the combat. The chief attack, he concluded, mustcertainly be made from the Rue de Bourgogne and the Rue de l'Universite, while a diversion might be effected on the side of the river. 

Whilst he thus pondered over his plans the eight o'clock sun, warmingthe nape of his neck, shone gaily on the broad footways, and gildedthe columns of the great structure in front of him. In imagination healready saw the contemplated battle; clusters of men clinging roundthose columns, the gates burst open, the peristyle invaded; and thenscraggy arms suddenly appearing high aloft and planting a banner there. 

At last he slowly went his way homewards again with his gaze fixed uponthe ground. But all at once a cooing sound made him look up, and he sawthat he was passing through the garden of the Tuileries. A number ofwood-pigeons, bridling their necks, were strutting over a lawn near by. Florent leant for a moment against the tub of an orange-tree, and lookedat the grass and the pigeons steeped in sunshine. Right ahead under thechestnut-trees all was black. The garden was wrapped in a warm silence, broken only by the distant rumbling which came from behind the railingsof the Rue de Rivoli. The scent of all the greenery affected Florent, reminding him of Madame Francois. However, a little girl ran past, trundling a hoop, and alarmed the pigeons. They flew off, and settled ina row on the arm of a marble statue of an antique wrestler standingin the middle of the lawn, and once more, but with less vivacity, theybegan to coo and bridle their necks. 

As Florent was returning to the markets by way of the Rue Vauvilliers, he heard Claude Lantier calling to him. The artist was going down intothe basement of the poultry pavilion. "Come with me!" he cried. "I'mlooking for that brute Marjolin. "

Florent followed, glad to forget his thoughts and to defer his returnto the fish market for a little longer. Claude told him that his friendMarjolin now had nothing further to wish for: he had become an utteranimal. Claude entertained an idea of making him pose on all-fours infuture. Whenever he lost his temper over some disappointing sketch hecame to spend whole hours in the idiot's company, never speaking, butstriving to catch his expression when he laughed. 

"He'll be feeding his pigeons, I dare say, " he said; "but unfortunatelyI don't know whereabouts Monsieur Gavard's storeroom is. "

They groped about the cellar. In the middle of it some water wastrickling from a couple of taps in the dim gloom. The storerooms hereare reserved for pigeons exclusively, and all along the trellising theyheard faint cooings, like the hushed notes of birds nestling under theleaves when daylight is departing. Claude began to laugh as he heard it. 

"It sounds as though all the lovers in Paris were embracing each otherinside here, doesn't it?" he exclaimed to his companion. 

However, they could not find a single storeroom open, and were beginningto think that Marjolin could not be in the cellar, when a sound ofloud, smacking kisses made them suddenly halt before a door which stoodslightly ajar. Claude pulled it open and beheld Marjolin, whom Cadinewas kissing, whilst he, a mere dummy, offered his face without feelingthe slightest thrill at the touch of her lips. 

"Oh, so this is your little game, is it?" said Claude with a laugh. 

"Oh, " replied Cadine, quite unabashed, "he likes being kissed, becausehe feels afraid now in the dim light. You do feel frightened, don'tyou?"

Like the idiot he was, Marjolin stroked his face with his hands asthough trying to find the kisses which the girl had just printed there. And he was beginning to stammer out that he was afraid, when Cadinecontinued: "And, besides, I came to help him; I've been feeding thepigeons. "

Florent looked at the poor creatures. All along the shelves were rows oflidless boxes, in which pigeons, showing their motley plumage, crowdedclosely on their stiffened legs. Every now and then a tremor ran alongthe moving mass; and then the birds settled down again, and nothing washeard but their confused, subdued notes. Cadine had a saucepan near her;she filled her mouth with the water and tares which it contained, andthen, taking up the pigeons one by one, shot the food down their throatswith amazing rapidity. The poor creatures struggled and nearly choked, and finally fell down in the boxes with swimming eyes, intoxicated, asit were, by all the food which they were thus forced to swallow. [*]

 [*] This is the customary mode of fattening pigeons at the Paris markets. The work is usually done by men who make a specialty of it, and are called _gaveurs_. --Translator. 

"Poor creatures!" exclaimed Claude. 

"Oh, so much the worse for them, " said Cadine, who had now finished. "They are much nicer eating when they've been well fed. In a couple ofhours or so all those over yonder will be given a dose of salt water. That makes their flesh white and tender. Then two hours afterwardsthey'll be killed. If you would like to see the killing, there are somehere which are quite ready. Marjolin will settle their account for themin a jiffy. "

Marjolin carried away a box containing some fifty pigeons, and Claudeand Florent followed him. Squatting upon the ground near one of thewater-taps, he placed the box by his side. Then he laid a framework ofslender wooden bars on the top of a kind of zinc trough, and forthwithbegan to kill the pigeons. His knife flashed rapidly in his fingers, as he seized the birds by the wings, stunned them by a blow on the headfrom the knife-handle, and then thrust the point of the blade into theirthroats. They quivered for an instant, and ruffled their feathers asMarjolin laid them in a row, with their heads between the wooden barsabove the zinc trough, into which their blood fell drop by drop. Herepeated each different movement with the regularity of clockwork, theblows from the knife-handle falling with a monotonous tick-tack as hebroke the birds' skulls, and his hand working backwards and forwardslike a pendulum as he took up the living pigeons on one side and laidthem down dead on the other. Soon, moreover, he worked with increasingrapidity, gloating over the massacre with glistening eyes, squattingthere like a huge delighted bull-dog enjoying the sight of slaughteredvermin. "Tick-tack! Tick-tack!" whilst his tongue clucked as anaccompaniment to the rhythmical movements of his knife. The pigeons hungdown like wisps of silken stuff. 

"Ah, you enjoy that, don't you, you great stupid?" exclaimed Cadine. "How comical those pigeons look when they bury their heads in theirshoulders to hide their necks! They're horrid things, you know, andwould give one nasty bites if they got the chance. " Then she laughedmore loudly at Marjolin's increasing, feverish haste; and added: "I'vekilled them sometimes myself, but I can't get on as quickly as he does. One day he killed a hundred in ten minutes. "

The wooden frame was nearly full; the blood could be heard falling intothe zinc trough; and as Claude happened to turn round he saw Florentlooking so pale that he hurriedly led him away. When they gotabove-ground again he made him sit down on a step. 

"Why, what's the matter with you?" he exclaimed, tapping him on theshoulder. "You're fainting away like a woman!"

"It's the smell of the cellar, " murmured Florent, feeling a littleashamed of himself. 

The truth was, however, that those pigeons, which were forced to swallowtares and salt water, and then had their skulls broken and their throatsslit, had reminded him of the wood-pigeons of the Tuileries gardens, strutting over the green turf, with their satiny plumage flashingiridescently in the sunlight. He again heard them cooing on the armof the marble wrestler amidst the hushed silence of the garden, whilechildren trundled their hoops in the deep gloom of the chestnuts. Andthen, on seeing that big fair-haired animal massacring his boxful ofbirds, stunning them with the handle of his knife and driving its pointinto their throats, in the depths of that foul-smelling cellar, he hadfelt sick and faint, his legs had almost given way beneath him, whilehis eyelids quivered tremulously. 

"Well, you'd never do for a soldier!" Claude said to him when herecovered from his faintness. "Those who sent you to Cayenne must havebeen very simple-minded folks to fear such a man as you! Why, my goodfellow, if ever you do put yourself at the head of a rising, you won'tdare to fire a shot. You'll be too much afraid of killing somebody. "

Florent got up without making any reply. He had become very gloomy, hisface was furrowed by deep wrinkles; and he walked off, leaving Claude togo back to the cellar alone. As he made his way towards the fish markethis thoughts returned to his plan of attack, to the levies of armed menwho were to invade the Palais Bourbon. Cannon would roar from the ChampsElysees; the gates would be burst open; blood would stain the steps, andmen's brains would bespatter the pillars. A vision of the fight passedrapidly before him; and he beheld himself in the midst of it, deadlypale, and hiding his face in his hands, not daring to look around him. 

As he was crossing the Rue du Pont Neuf he fancied he espied Auguste'spale face peering round the corner of the fruit pavilion. The assistantseemed to be watching for someone, and his eyes were starting from hishead with an expression of intense excitement. Suddenly, however, hevanished and hastened back to the pork shop. 

"What's the matter with him?" thought Florent. "Is he frightened of me, I wonder?"

Some very serious occurrences had taken place that morning at theQuenu-Gradelles'. Soon after daybreak, Auguste, breathless withexcitement, had awakened his mistress to tell her that the policehad come to arrest Monsieur Florent. And he added, with stammeringincoherence, that the latter had gone out, and that he must have done sowith the intention of escaping. Lisa, careless of appearances, at oncehurried up to her brother-in-law's room in her dressing-wrapper, andtook possession of La Normande's photograph, after glancing round tosee if there was anything lying about that might compromise herself andQuenu. As she was making her way downstairs again, she met the policeagents on the first floor. The commissary requested her to accompanythem to Florent's room, where, after speaking to her for a moment in alow tone, he installed himself with his men, bidding her open the shopas usual so as to avoid giving the alarm to anyone. The trap was set. 

Lisa's only worry in the matter was the terrible blow that the arrestwould prove to poor Quenu. She was much afraid that if he learned thatthe police were in the house, he would spoil everything by his tears; soshe made Auguste swear to observe the most rigid silence on the subject. Then she went back to her room, put on her stays, and concocted somestory for the benefit of Quenu, who was still drowsy. Half an hour latershe was standing at the door of the shop with all her usual neatnessof appearance, her hair smooth and glossy, and her face glowing rosily. Auguste was quietly setting out the window. Quenu came for a moment onto the footway, yawning slightly, and ridding himself of all sleepinessin the fresh morning air. There was nothing to indicate the drama thatwas in preparation upstairs. 

The commissary himself, however, gave the alarm to the neighbourhood bypaying a domiciliary visit to the Mehudins' abode in the Rue Pirouette. He was in possession of the most precise information. In the anonymousletters which had been sent to the Prefecture, all sorts of statementswere made respecting Florent's alleged intrigue with the beautifulNorman. Perhaps, thought the commissary, he had now taken refuge withher; and so, accompanied by two of his men, he proceeded to knock at thedoor in the name of the law. The Mehudins had only just got up. The oldwoman opened the door in a fury; but suddenly calmed down and beganto smile when she learned the business on hand. She seated herself andfastened her clothes, while declaring to the officers: "We are honestfolks here, and have nothing to be afraid of. You can search whereveryou like. "

However, as La Normande delayed to open the door of her room, thecommissary told his men to break it open. The young woman was scarcelyclad when the others entered, and this unceremonious invasion, which shecould not understand, fairly exasperated her. She flushed crimson fromanger rather than from shame, and seemed as though she were about tofly at the officers. The commissary, at the sight, stepped forward toprotect his men, repeating in his cold voice: "In the name of the law!In the name of the law!"

Thereupon La Normande threw herself upon a chair, and burst into a wildfit of hysterical sobbing at finding herself so powerless. She was quiteat a loss to understand what these men wanted with her. The commissary, however, had noticed how scantily she was clad, and taking a shawl froma peg, he flung it over her. Still she did not wrap it round her, butonly sobbed the more bitterly as she watched the men roughly searchingthe apartment. 

"But what have I done?" she at last stammered out. "What are you lookingfor here?"

Thereupon the commissary pronounced the name of Florent; and LaNormande, catching sight of the old woman, who was standing at the door, cried out: "Oh, the wretch! This is her doing!" and she rushed at hermother. 

She would have struck her if she had reached her; but the police agentsheld her back, and forcibly wrapped her in the shawl. Meanwhile, shestruggled violently, and exclaimed in a choking voice:

"What do you take me for? That Florent has never been in this room, Itell you. There was nothing at all between us. People are always tryingto injure me in the neighbourhood; but just let anyone come here andsay anything before my face, and then you'll see! You'll lock me upafterwards, I dare say, but I don't mind that! Florent, indeed! What alie! What nonsense!"

This flood of words seemed to calm her; and her anger now turnedagainst Florent, who was the cause of all the trouble. Addressing thecommissary, she sought to justify herself. 

"I did not know his real character, sir, " she said. "He had such a mildmanner that he deceived us all. I was unwilling to believe all I heard, because I know people are so malicious. He only came here to givelessons to my little boy, and went away directly they were over. I gavehim a meal here now and again, that's true and sometimes made him apresent of a fine fish. That's all. But this will be a warning to me, and you won't catch me showing the same kindness to anyone again. "

"But hasn't he given you any of his papers to take care of?" asked thecommissary. 

"Oh no, indeed! I swear it. I'd give them up to you at once if he had. I've had quite enough of this, I can tell you! It's no joke to see youtossing all my things about and ferreting everywhere in this way. Oh!you may look; there's nothing. "

The officers, who examined every article of furniture, now wished toenter the little closet where Muche slept. The child had been awakenedby the noise, and for the last few moments he had been crying bitterly, as though he imagined that he was going to be murdered. 

"This is my boy's room, " said La Normande, opening the door. 

Muche, quite naked, ran up and threw his arms round his mother's neck. She pacified him, and laid him down in her own bed. The officers cameout of the little room again almost immediately, and the commissaryhad just made up his mind to retire, when the child, still in tears, whispered in his mother's ear: "They'll take my copy-books. Don't letthem have my copy-books. "

"Oh, yes; that's true, " cried La Normande; "there are some copy-books. Wait a moment, gentlemen, and I'll give them to you. I want you to seethat I'm not hiding anything from you. Then, you'll find some of hiswriting inside these. You're quite at liberty to hang him as far as I'mconcerned; you won't find me trying to cut him down. "

Thereupon she handed Muche's books and the copies set by Florent to thecommissary. But at this the boy sprang angrily out of bed, and began toscratch and bite his mother, who put him back again with a box on theears. Then he began to bellow. 

In the midst of the uproar, Mademoiselle Saget appeared on thethreshold, craning her neck forward. Finding all the doors open, she hadcome in to offer her services to old Madame Mehudin. She spied about andlistened, and expressed extreme pity for these poor women, who hadno one to defend them. The commissary, however, had begun to readthe copies with a grave air. The frequent repetition of such words as"tyrannically, " "liberticide, " "unconstitutional, " and "revolutionary"made him frown; and on reading the sentence, "When the hour strikes, theguilty shall fall, " he tapped his fingers on the paper and said: "Thisis very serious, very serious indeed. "

Thereupon he gave the books to one of his men, and went off. Claire, who had hitherto not shown herself, now opened her door, and watchedthe police officers go down the stairs. And afterwards she came intoher sister's bedroom, which she had not entered for a year. MademoiselleSaget appeared to be on the best of terms with La Normande, and washanging over her in a caressing way, bringing the shawl forward tocover her the better, and listening to her angry indignation with anexpression of the deepest sympathy. 

"You wretched coward!" exclaimed Claire, planting herself in front ofher sister. 

La Normande sprang up, quivering with anger, and let the shawl fall tothe floor. 

"Ah, you've been playing the spy, have you?" she screamed. "Dare torepeat what you've just said!"

"You wretched coward!" repeated Claire, in still more insulting tonesthan before. 

Thereupon La Normande struck Claire with all her force; and in returnClaire, turning terribly pale, sprang upon her sister and dug her nailsinto her neck. They struggled together for a moment or two, tearingat each other's hair and trying to choke one another. Claire, fragilethough she was, pushed La Normande backward with such tremendousviolence that they both fell against the wardrobe, smashing the mirroron its front. Muche was roaring, and old Madame Mehudin called toMademoiselle Saget to come and help her separate the sisters. Claire, however, shook herself free. 

"Coward! Coward!" she cried; "I'll go and tell the poor fellow that itis you who have betrayed him. "

Her mother, however, blocked the doorway, and would not let her pass, while La Normande seized her from behind, and then, Mademoiselle Sagetcoming to the assistance of the other two, the three of them draggedClaire into her bedroom and locked the door upon her, in spite of allher frantic resistance. In her rage she tried to kick the door down, andsmashed everything in the room. Soon afterwards, however, nothing couldbe heard except a furious scratching, the sound of metal scarping at theplaster. The girl was trying to loosen the door hinges with the pointsof her scissors. 

"She would have murdered me if she had had a knife, " said La Normande, looking about for her clothes, in order to dress herself. "She'll bedoing something dreadful, you'll see, one of these days, with thatjealousy of hers! We mustn't let her get out on any account: she'd bringthe whole neighbourhood down upon us!"

Mademoiselle Saget went off in all haste. She reached the corner of theRue Pirouette just as the commissary of police was re-entering the sidepassage of the Quenu-Gradelles' house. She grasped the situation atonce, and entered the shop with such glistening eyes that Lisa enjoinedsilence by a gesture which called her attention to the presence ofQuenu, who was hanging up some pieces of salt pork. As soon as he hadreturned to the kitchen, the old maid in a low voice described thescenes that had just taken place at the Mehudins'. Lisa, as she bentover the counter, with her hand resting on a dish of larded veal, listened to her with the happy face of one who triumphs. Then, as acustomer entered the shop, and asked for a couple of pig's trotters, Lisa wrapped them up, and handed them over with a thoughtful air. 

"For my own part, I bear La Normande no ill-will, " she said toMademoiselle Saget, when they were alone again. "I used to be veryfond of her, and have always been sorry that other people made mischiefbetween us. The proof that I've no animosity against her is here in thisphotograph, which I saved from falling into the hands of the police, andwhich I'm quite ready to give her back if she will come and ask me forit herself. "

She took the photograph out of her pocket as she spoke. MademoiselleSaget scrutinised it and sniggered as she read the inscription, "Louise, to her dear friend Florent. "

"I'm not sure you'll be acting wisely, " she said in her cutting voice. "You'd do better to keep it. "

"No, no, " replied Lisa; "I'm anxious for all this silly nonsense tocome to an end. To-day is the day of reconciliation. We've had enoughunpleasantness, and the neighbourhood's now going to be quiet andpeaceful again. "

"Well, well, shall I go and tell La Normande that you are expectingher?" asked the old maid. 

"Yes; I shall be very glad if you will. "

Mademoiselle Saget then made her way back to the Rue Pirouette, andgreatly frightened the fish-girl by telling her that she had just seenher photograph in Lisa's pocket. She could not, however, at once prevailupon her to comply with her rival's terms. La Normande propoundedconditions of her own. She would go, but Madame Quenu must come to thedoor of the shop to receive her. Thus the old maid was obliged to makeanother couple of journeys between the two rivals before their meetingcould be satisfactorily arranged. At last, however, to her greatdelight, she succeeded in negotiating the peace which was destined tocause so much talk and excitement. As she passed Claire's door for thelast time she still heard the sound of the scissors scraping away at theplaster. 

When she had at last carried a definite reply to Madame Quenu, Mademoiselle Saget hurried off to find Madame Lecoeur and La Sarriette;and all three of them took up their position on the footway at thecorner of the fish market, just in front of the pork shop. Here theywould be certain to have a good view of every detail of the meeting. They felt extremely impatient, and while pretending to chat togetherkept an anxious look-out in the direction of the Rue Pirouette, alongwhich La Normande must come. The news of the reconciliation was alreadytravelling through the markets, and while some saleswomen stood upbehind their stalls trying to get a view of what was taking place, others, still more inquisitive, actually left their places and took up aposition in the covered way. Every eye in the markets was directedupon the pork shop; the whole neighbourhood was on the tip-toe ofexpectation. 

It was a very solemn affair. When La Normande at last turned the cornerof the Rue Pirouette the excitement was so great that the women heldtheir breath. 

"She has got her diamonds on, " murmured La Sarriette. 

"Just look how she stalks along, " added Madame Lecoeur; "the stuck-upcreature!"

The beautiful Norman was, indeed, advancing with the mien of a queen whocondescends to make peace. She had made a most careful toilet, frizzingher hair and turning up a corner of her apron to display her cashmereskirt. She had even put on a new and rich lace bow. Conscious that thewhole market was staring at her, she assumed a still haughtier air asshe approached the pork shop. When she reached the door she stopped. 

"Now it's beautiful Lisa's turn, " remarked Mademoiselle Saget. "Mind youpay attention. "

Beautiful Lisa smilingly quitted her counter. She crossed the shop-floorat a leisurely pace, and came and offered her hand to the beautifulNorman. She also was smartly dressed, with her dazzling linen andscrupulous neatness. A murmur ran through the crowd of fish-wives, alltheir heads gathered close together, and animated chatter ensued. Thetwo women had gone inside the shop, and the _crepines_ in the windowprevented them from being clearly seen. However, they seemed to beconversing affectionately, addressing pretty compliments to one another. 

"See!" suddenly exclaimed Mademoiselle Saget, "the beautiful Norman'sbuying something! What is it she's buying? It's a chitterling, Ibelieve! Ah! Look! look! You didn't see it, did you? Well, beautifulLisa just gave her the photograph; she slipped it into her hand with thechitterling. "

Fresh salutations were then seen to pass between the two women; andthe beautiful Lisa, exceeding even the courtesies which had been agreedupon, accompanied the beautiful Norman to the footway. There they stoodlaughing together, exhibiting themselves to the neighbourhood likea couple of good friends. The markets were quite delighted; and thesaleswomen returned to their stalls, declaring that everything hadpassed off extremely well. 

Mademoiselle Saget, however, detained Madame Lecoeur and La Sarriette. The drama was not over yet. All three kept their eyes fixed on the houseopposite with such keen curiosity that they seemed trying to penetratethe very walls. To pass the time away they once more began to talk ofthe beautiful Norman. 

"She's without a lover now, " remarked Madame Lecoeur. 

"Oh! she's got Monsieur Lebigre, " replied La Sarriette, with a laugh. 

"But surely Monsieur Lebigre won't have anything more to say to her. "

Mademoiselle Saget shrugged her shoulders. "Ah, you don't know him, " shesaid. "He won't care a straw about all this business. He knows what he'sabout, and La Normande is rich. They'll come together in a couple ofmonths, you'll see. Old Madame Mehudin's been scheming to bring abouttheir marriage for a long time past. "

"Well, anyway, " retorted the butter dealer, "the commissary foundFlorent at her lodgings. "

"No, no, indeed; I'm sure I never told you that. The long spindle-shankshad gone way, " replied the old maid. She paused to take a breath; thenresumed in an indignant tone, "What distressed me most was to hear ofall the abominable things that the villain had taught little Muche. You'd really never believe it. There was a whole bundle of papers. "

"What sort of abominable things?" asked La Sarriette with interest. 

"Oh, all kinds of filth. The commissary said there was quite sufficientthere to hang him. The fellow's a perfect monster! To go and demoralisea child! Why, it's almost past believing! Little Muche is certainly ascamp, but that's no reason why he should be given over to the 'Reds, 'is it?"

"Certainly not, " assented the two others. 

"However, all these mysterious goings-on will come to an end now. Youremember my telling you once that there was some strange goings-on atthe Quenus'? Well, you see, I was right in my conclusions, wasn'tI? Thank God, however, the neighbourhood will now be able to breatheeasily. It was high time strong steps were taken, for things had got tosuch a pitch that one actually felt afraid of being murdered in broaddaylight. There was no pleasure in life. All the dreadful stories andreports one heard were enough to worry one to death. And it was allowing to that man, that dreadful Florent. Now beautiful Lisa and thebeautiful Norman have sensibly made friends again. It was their duty todo so for the sake of the peace and quietness of us all. Everything willgo on satisfactorily now, you'll find. Ah! there's poor Monsieur Quenulaughing yonder!"

Quenu had again come on to the footway, and was joking with MadameTaboureau's little servant. He seemed quite gay and skittish thatmorning. He took hold of the little servant's hands, and squeezed herfingers so tightly, in the exuberance of his spirits, that he made hercry out. Lisa had the greatest trouble to get him to go back into thekitchen. She was impatiently pacing about the shop, fearing lest Florentshould make his appearance; and she called to her husband to come away, dreading a meeting between him and his brother. 

"She's getting quite vexed, " said Mademoiselle Saget. "Poor MonsieurQuenu, you see, knows nothing at all about what's taking place. Justlook at him there, laughing like a child! Madame Taboureau, you know, said that she should have nothing more to do with the Quenus if theypersisted in bringing themselves into discredit by keeping that Florentwith them. "

"Well, now, I suppose, they will stick to the fortune, " remarked MadameLecoeur. 

"Oh, no, indeed, my dear. The other one has had his share already. "

"Really? How do you know that?"

"Oh, it's clear enough, that is!" replied the old maid after a momentaryhesitation, but without giving any proof of her assertions. "He's hadeven more than his share. The Quenus will be several thousand francs outof pocket. Money flies, you know, when a man has such vices as he has. Idare say you don't know that there was another woman mixed up in it all. Yes, indeed, old Madame Verlaque, the wife of the former inspector; youknow the sallow-faced thing well enough. "

The others protested that it surely wasn't possible. Why, MadameVerlaque was positively hideous!

"What! do you think me a liar?" cried Mademoiselle Saget, with angryindignation. "Why, her letters to him have been found, a whole pile ofletters, in which she asks for money, ten and twenty francs at a time. There's no doubt at all about it. I'm quite certain in my own mind thatthey killed the husband between them. "

La Sarriette and Madame Lecoeur were convinced; but they were beginningto get very impatient. They had been waiting on the footway for morethan an hour, and feared that somebody might be robbing their stallsduring their long absence. So Mademoiselle Saget began to give them somefurther interesting information to keep them from going off. Florentcould not have taken to flight, said she; he was certain to return, andit would be very interesting to see him arrested. Then she went on todescribe the trap that had been laid for him, while Madame Lecoeurand La Sarriette continued scrutinising the house from top to bottom, keeping watch upon every opening, and at each moment expecting to seethe hats of the detectives appear at one of the doors or windows. 

"Who would ever imagine, now, that the place was full of police?"observed the butter dealer. 

"Oh! they're in the garret at the top, " said the old maid. "They've leftthe window open, you see, just as they found it. Look! I think I can seeone of them hiding behind the pomegranate on the balcony. "

The others excitedly craned out their necks, but could see nothing. 

"Ah, no, it's only a shadow, " continued Mademoiselle Saget. "The littlecurtains even are perfectly still. The detectives must be sitting downin the room, and keeping quiet. "

Just at that moment the women caught sight of Gavard coming out of thefish market with a thoughtful air. They looked at him with glisteningeyes, without speaking. They had drawn close to one another, and stoodthere rigid in their drooping skirts. The poultry dealer came up tothem. 

"Have you seen Florent go by?" he asked. 

They replied that they had not. 

"I want to speak to him at once, " continued Gavard. "He isn't in thefish market. He must have gone up to his room. But you would have seenhim, though, if he had. "

The women had turned rather pale. They still kept looking at each otherwith a knowing expression, their lips twitching slightly every now andthen. "We have only been here some five minutes, said Madame Lecoeurunblushingly, as her brother-in-law still stood hesitating. 

"Well, then, I'll go upstairs and see. I'll risk the five flights, "rejoined Gavard with a laugh. 

La Sarriette stepped forward as though she wished to detain him, but heraunt took hold of her arm and drew her back. 

"Let him alone, you big simpleton!" she whispered. "It's the best thingthat can happen to him. It'll teach him to treat us with respect infuture. "

"He won't say again that I ate tainted meat, " muttered MademoiselleSaget in a low tone. 

They said nothing more. La Sarriette was very red; but the two othersstill remained quite yellow. But they now averted their heads, feelingconfused by each other's looks, and at a loss what to do with theirhands, which they buried beneath their aprons. Presently their eyesinstinctively came back to the house, penetrating the walls, as it were, following Gavard in his progress up the stairs. When they imagined thathe had entered Florent's room they again exchanged furtive glances. LaSarriette laughed nervously. All at once they fancied they could see thewindow curtains moving, and this led them to believe that a struggle wastaking place. But the house-front remained as tranquil as ever in thesunshine; and another quarter of an hour of unbroken quietness passedaway, during which the three women's nervous excitement became moreand more intense. They were beginning to feel quite faint when a manhurriedly came out of the passage and ran off to get a cab. Five minuteslater Gavard appeared, followed by two police officers. Lisa, who hadstepped out on to the footway on observing the cab, hastily hurried backinto the shop. 

Gavard was very pale. The police had searched him upstairs, and haddiscovered the revolver and cartridge case in his possession. Judgingby the commissary's stern expression on hearing his name, the poultrydealer deemed himself lost. This was a terrible ending to his plottingthat had never entered into his calculations. The Tuileries would neverforgive him! His legs gave way beneath him as though the firing partywas already awaiting him outside. When he got into the street, however, his vanity lent him sufficient strength to walk erect; and he evenmanaged to force a smile, as he knew the market people were looking athim. They should see him die bravely, he resolved. 

However, La Sarriette and Madame Lecoeur rushed up to him and anxiouslyinquired what was the matter; and the butter dealer began to cry, whileLa Sarriette embraced her uncle, manifesting the deepest emotion. AsGavard held her clasped in his arms, he slipped a key into her hand, andwhispered in her ear: "Take everything, and burn the papers. "

Then he got into the cab with the same mien as he would have ascendedthe scaffold. As the vehicle disappeared round the corner of the RuePierre Lescot, Madame Lecoeur observed La Sarriette trying to hide thekey in her pocket. 

"It's of no use you trying that little game on me, my dear, " sheexclaimed, clenching her teeth; "I saw him slip it into your hand. As true as there's a God in Heaven, I'll go to the gaol and tell himeverything, if you don't treat me properly. "

"Of course I shall treat you properly, aunt, dear, " replied LaSarriette, with an embarrassed smile. 

"Very well, then, let us go to his rooms at once. It's of no use to givethe police time to poke their dirty hands in the cupboards. "

Mademoiselle Saget, who had been listening with gleaming eyes, followedthem, running along in the rear as quickly as her short legs couldcarry her. She had no thought, now, of waiting for Florent. From the RueRambuteau to the Rue de la Cossonnerie she manifested the most humbleobsequiousness, and volunteered to explain matters to Madame Leonce, thedoorkeeper. 

"We'll see, we'll see, " the butter dealer curtly replied. 

However, on reaching the house a preliminary parley--as MademoiselleSaget had opined--proved to be necessary. Madame Leonce refused to allowthe women to go up to her tenant's room. She put on an expressionof severe austerity, and seemed greatly shocked by the sight of LaSarriette's loosely fastened fichu. However, after the old maid hadwhispered a few words to her and she was shown the key, she gave way. When they got upstairs she surrendered the rooms and furniture to theothers article by article, apparently as heartbroken as if she had beencompelled to show a party of burglars the place where her own money wassecreted. 

"There, take everything and have done with it!" she cried at last, throwing herself into an arm-chair. 

La Sarriette was already eagerly trying the key in the locks ofdifferent closets. Madame Lecoeur, all suspicion, pressed her so closelythat she exclaimed: "Really, aunt, you get in my way. Do leave my armsfree, at any rate. "

At last they succeeded in opening a wardrobe opposite the window, between the fireplace and the bed. And then all four women broke intoexclamations. On the middle shelf lay some ten thousand francs ingold, methodically arranged in little piles. Gavard, who had prudentlydeposited the bulk of his fortune in the hands of a notary, had keptthis sum by him for the purposes of the coming outbreak. He had beenwont to say with great solemnity that his contribution to the revolutionwas quite ready. The fact was that he had sold out certain stock, andevery night took an intense delight in contemplating those ten thousandfrancs, gloating over them, and finding something quite roysterous andinsurrectional in their appearance. Sometimes when he was in bed hedreamed that a fight was going on in the wardrobe; he could hearguns being fired there, paving-stones being torn up and piled intobarricades, and voices shouting in clamorous triumph; and he said tohimself that it was his money fighting against the Government. 

La Sarriette, however, had stretched out her hands with a cry ofdelight. 

"Paws off, little one!" exclaimed Madame Lecoeur in a hoarse voice. 

As she stood there in the reflection of the gold, she looked yellowerthan ever--her face discoloured by biliousness, her eyes glowingfeverishly from the liver complaint which was secretly undermining her. Behind her Mademoiselle Saget on tip-toe was gazing ecstatically intothe wardrobe, and Madame Leonce had now risen from her seat, and wasgrowling sulkily. 

"My uncle said I was to take everything, " declared the girl. 

"And am I to have nothing, then; I who have done so much for him?" criedthe doorkeeper. 

Madame Lecoeur was almost choking with excitement. She pushed the othersaway, and clung hold of the wardrobe, screaming: "It all belongs tome! I am his nearest relative. You are a pack of thieves, you are! I'drather throw it all out of the window than see you have it!"

Then silence fell, and they all four stood glowering at each other. The kerchief that La Sarriette wore over her breast was now altogetherunfastened, and she displayed her bosom heaving with warm life, hermoist red lips, her rosy nostrils. Madame Lecoeur grew still more souras she saw how lovely the girl looked in the excitement of her longingdesire. 

"Well, " she said in a lower tone, "we won't fight about it. You are hisniece, and I'll divide the money with you. We will each take a pile inturn. "

Thereupon they pushed the other two aside. The butter dealer tookthe first pile, which at once disappeared within her skirts. Then LaSarriette took a pile. They kept a close watch upon one another, readyto fight at the slightest attempt at cheating. Their fingers were thrustforward in turn, the hideous knotted fingers of the aunt and the whitefingers of the niece, soft and supple as silk. Slowly they filled theirpockets. When there was only one pile left, La Sarriette objected toher aunt taking it, as she had commenced; and she suddenly dividedit between Mademoiselle Saget and Madame Leonce, who had watched thempocket the gold with feverish impatience. 

"Much obliged to you!" snarled the doorkeeper. "Fifty francs for havingcoddled him up with tisane and broth! The old deceiver told me he had norelatives!"

Before locking the wardrobe up again, Madame Lecoeur searched itthoroughly from top to bottom. It contained all the political workswhich were forbidden admission into the country, the pamphlets printedat Brussels, the scandalous histories of the Bonapartes, and the foreigncaricatures ridiculing the Emperor. One of Gavard's greatestdelights was to shut himself up with a friend, and show him all thesecompromising things. 

"He told me that I was to burn all the papers, " said La Sarriette. 

"Oh, nonsense! we've no fire, and it would take up too long. The policewill soon be here! We must get out of this!"

They all four hastened off; but they had not reached the bottom of thestairs before the police met them, and made Madame Leonce return withthem upstairs. The three others, making themselves as small as possible, hurriedly escaped into the street. They walked away in single file at abrisk pace; the aunt and niece considerably incommoded by the weight oftheir drooping pockets. Mademoiselle Saget had kept her fifty francs inher closed fist, and remained deep in thought, brooding over a plan forextracting something more from the heavy pockets in front of her. 

"Ah!" she exclaimed, as they reached the corner of the fish market, "we've got here at a lucky moment. There's Florent yonder, just going towalk into the trap. "

Florent, indeed, was just then returning to the markets after hisprolonged perambulation. He went into his office to change his coat, and then set about his daily duties, seeing that the marble slabs wereproperly washed, and slowly strolling along the alleys. He fancied thatthe fish-wives looked at him in a somewhat strange manner; they chuckledtoo, and smiled significantly as he passed them. Some new vexation, hethought, was in store for him. For some time past those huge, terriblewomen had not allowed him a day's peace. However, as he passed theMehudins' stall he was very much surprised to hear the old woman addresshim in a honeyed tone: "There's just been a gentleman inquiring for you, Monsieur Florent; a middle-aged gentleman. He's gone to wait for you inyour room. "

As the old fish-wife, who was squatting, all of a heap, on her chair, spoke these words, she felt such a delicious thrill of satisfiedvengeance that her huge body fairly quivered. Florent, still doubtful, glanced at the beautiful Norman; but the young woman, now completelyreconciled with her mother, turned on her tap and slapped her fish, pretending not to hear what was being said. 

"You are quite sure?" said Florent to Mother Mehudin. 

"Oh, yes, indeed. Isn't that so, Louise?" said the old woman in ashriller voice. 

Florent concluded that it must be some one who wanted to see him aboutthe great business, and he resolved to go up to his room. He was justabout to leave the pavilion, when, happening to turn round, he observedthe beautiful Norman watching him with a grave expression on her face. Then he passed in front of the three gossips. 

"Do you notice that there's no one in the pork shop?" remarkedMademoiselle Saget. "Beautiful Lisa's not the woman to compromiseherself. "

The shop was, indeed, quite empty. The front of the house was stillbright with sunshine; the building looked like some honest, prosperouspile guilelessly warming itself in the morning rays. Up above, thepomegranate on the balcony was in full bloom. As Florent crossed theroadway he gave a friendly nod to Logre and Monsieur Lebigre, whoappeared to be enjoying the fresh air on the doorstep of the latter'sestablishment. They returned his greeting with a smile. Florent was thenabout to enter the side-passage, when he fancied he saw Auguste's paleface hastily vanishing from its dark and narrow depths. Thereupon heturned back and glanced into the shop to make sure that the middle-agedgentleman was not waiting for him there. But he saw no one but Mouton, who sat on a block displaying his double chin and bristling whiskers, and gazed at him defiantly with his great yellow eyes. And when he hadat last made up his mind to enter the passage, Lisa's face appearedbehind the little curtain of a glazed door at the back of the shop. 

A hush had fallen over the fish market. All the huge paunches and bosomsheld their breath, waiting till Florent should disappear from sight. Then there was an uproarious outbreak; and the bosoms heaved wildlyand the paunches nearly burst with malicious delight. The joke hadsucceeded. Nothing could be more comical. As old Mother Mehudin ventedher merriment she shook and quivered like a wine-skin that is beingemptied. Her story of the middle-aged gentleman went the round of themarket, and the fish-wives found it extremely amusing. At last the longspindle-shanks was collared, and they would no longer always have hismiserable face and gaol-bird's expression before their eyes. Theyall wished him a pleasant journey, and trusted that they might get ahandsome fellow for their next inspector. And in their delight theyrushed about from one stall to another, and felt inclined to danceround their marble slabs like a lot of holiday-making schoolgirls. The beautiful Norman, however, watched this outbreak of joy in a rigidattitude, not daring to move for fear she should burst into tears;and she kept her hands pressed upon a big skate to cool her feverishexcitement. 

"You see how those Mehudins turn their backs upon him now that he's cometo grief, " said Madame Lecoeur. 

"Well, and they're quite right too, " replied Mademoiselle Saget. "Besides, matters are settled now, my dear, and we're to have no moredisputes. You've every reason to be satisfied; leave the others to actas they please. "

"It's only the old woman who is laughing, " La Sarriette remarked; "LaNormande looks anything but happy. "

Meantime, upstairs in his bedroom, Florent allowed himself to be takenas unresistingly as a sheep. The police officers sprang roughlyupon him, expecting, no doubt, that they would meet with a desperateresistance. He quietly begged them to leave go of him; and then satdown on a chair while they packed up his papers, and the red scarves, armlets, and banners. He did not seem at all surprised at this ending;indeed, it was something of a relief to him, though he would not franklyconfess it. But he suffered acutely at thought of the bitter hatredwhich had sent him into that room; he recalled Auguste's pale face andthe sniggering looks of the fish-wives; he bethought himself of oldMadame Mehudin's words, La Normande's silence, and the empty shopdownstairs. The markets were leagued against him, he reflected; thewhole neighbourhood had conspired to hand him over to the police. Themud of those greasy streets had risen up all around to overwhelm him!

And amidst all the round faces which flitted before his mind's eye theresuddenly appeared that of Quenu, and a spasm of mortal agony contractedhis heart. 

"Come, get along downstairs!" exclaimed one of the officers, roughly. 

Florent rose and proceeded to go downstairs. When he reached the secondfloor he asked to be allowed to return; he had forgotten something, hesaid. But the officers refused to let him go back, and began to hustlehim forward. Then he besought them to let him return to his room again, and even offered them the money he had in his pocket. Two of them atlast consented to return with him, threatening to blow his brains outshould he attempt to play them any trick; and they drew their revolversout of their pockets as they spoke. However, on reaching his room oncemore Florent simply went straight to the chaffinch's cage, took thebird out of it, kissed it between its wings, and set it at liberty. He watched it fly away through the open window, into the sunshine, andalight, as though giddy, on the roof of the fish market. Then it flewoff again and disappeared over the markets in the direction of theSquare des Innocents. For a moment longer Florent remained face to facewith the sky, the free and open sky; and he thought of the wood-pigeonscooing in the garden of the Tuileries, and of those other pigeons downin the market cellars with their throats slit by Marjolin's knife. Thenhe felt quite broken, and turned and followed the officers, who wereputting their revolvers back into their pockets as they shrugged theirshoulders. 

On reaching the bottom of the stairs, Florent stopped before the doorwhich led into the kitchen. The commissary, who was waiting for himthere, seemed almost touched by his gentle submissiveness, and askedhim: "Would you like to say good-bye to your brother?"

For a moment Florent hesitated. He looked at the door. A tremendousnoise of cleavers and pans came from the kitchen. Lisa, with thedesign of keeping her husband occupied, had persuaded him to make theblack-puddings in the morning instead of in the evening, as was hiswont. The onions were simmering on the fire, and over all the noisyuproar Florent could hear Quenu's joyous voice exclaiming, "Ah, dash itall, the pudding will be excellent, that it will! Auguste, hand me thefat!"

Florent thanked the commissary, but refused his offer. He was afraidto return any more into that warm kitchen, reeking with the odour ofboiling onions, and so he went on past the door, happy in the thoughtthat his brother knew nothing of what had happened to him, and hasteninghis steps as if to spare the establishment all further worry. However, on emerging into the open sunshine of the street he felt a touch ofshame, and got into the cab with bent back and ashen face. He wasconscious that the fish market was gazing at him in triumph; it seemedto him, indeed, as though the whole neighbourhood had gathered there torejoice at his fall. 

"What a villainous expression he's got!" said Mademoiselle Saget. 

"Yes, indeed, he looks just like a thief caught with his hand insomebody's till, " added Madame Lecoeur. 

"I once saw a man guillotined who looked exactly like he does, " assertedLa Sarriette, showing her white teeth. 

They stepped forward, lengthened their necks, and tried to see into thecab. Just as it was starting, however, the old maid tugged sharply atthe skirts of her companions, and pointed to Claire, who was cominground the corner of the Rue Pirouette, looking like a mad creature, with her hair loose and her nails bleeding. She had at last succeededin opening her door. When she discovered that she was too late, andthat Florent was being taken off, she darted after the cab, but checkedherself almost immediately with a gesture of impotent rage, and shookher fists at the receding wheels. Then, with her face quite crimsonbeneath the fine plaster dust with which she was covered, she ran backagain towards the Rue Pirouette. 

"Had he promised to marry her, eh?" exclaimed La Sarriette, laughing. "The silly fool must be quite cracked. "

Little by little the neighbourhood calmed down, though throughout theday groups of people constantly assembled and discussed the events ofthe morning. The pork shop was the object of much inquisitive curiosity. Lisa avoided appearing there, and left the counter in charge ofAugustine. In the afternoon she felt bound to tell Quenu of what hadhappened, for fear the news might cause him too great a shock shouldhe hear it from some gossiping neighbour. She waited till she was alonewith him in the kitchen, knowing that there he was always most cheerful, and would weep less than if he were anywhere else. Moreover, shecommunicated her tidings with all sorts of motherly precautions. Nevertheless, as soon as he knew the truth he fell on thechopping-block, and began to cry like a calf. 

"Now, now, my poor dear, don't give way like that; you'll make yourselfquite ill, " exclaimed Lisa, taking him in her arms. 

His tears were inundating his white apron, the whole of his massive, torpid form quivered with grief. He seemed to be sinking, melting away. When he was at last able to speak, he stammered: "Oh, you don't know howgood he was to me when we lived together in the Rue Royer-Collard! Hedid everything. He swept the room and cooked the meals. He loved me asthough I were his own child; and after his day's work he used to comeback splashed with mud, and so tired that he could scarcely move, whileI stayed warm and comfortable in the house, and had nothing to do buteat. And now they're going to shoot him!"

At this Lisa protested, saying that he would certainly not be shot. ButQuenu only shook his head. 

"I haven't loved him half as much as I ought to have done, " hecontinued. "I can see that very well now. I had a wicked heart, and Ihesitated about giving him his half of the money. "

"Why, I offered it to him a dozen times and more!" Lisa interrupted. "I'm sure we've nothing to reproach ourselves with. "

"Oh, yes, I know that you are everything that is good, and that youwould have given him every copper. But I hesitated, I didn't like topart with it; and now it will be a sorrow to me for the rest of my life. I shall always think that if I'd shared the fortune with him he wouldn'thave gone wrong a second time. Oh, yes; it's my fault! It is I who havedriven him to this. "

Then Lisa, expostulating still more gently, assured him that he hadnothing to blame himself for, and even expressed some pity for Florent. But he was really very culpable, she said, and if he had had more moneyhe would probably have perpetrated greater follies. Gradually she gaveher husband to understand that it was impossible matters could have hadany other termination, and that now everything would go on much better. Quenu was still weeping, wiping his cheeks with his apron, trying tosuppress his sobs to listen to her, and then breaking into a wilderfit of tears than before. His fingers had mechanically sought a heapof sausage-meat lying on the block, and he was digging holes in it, androughly kneading it together. 

"And how unwell you were feeling, you know, " Lisa continued. "It was allbecause our life had got so shifted out of its usual course. I was veryanxious, though I didn't tell you so, at seeing you getting so low. "

"Yes, wasn't I?" he murmured, ceasing to sob for a moment. 

"And the business has been quite under a cloud this year. It was asthough a spell had been cast on it. Come, now, don't take on so; you'llsee that everything will look up again now. You must take care ofyourself, you know, for my sake and your daughter's. You have duties tous as well as to others, remember. "

Quenu was now kneading the sausage-meat more gently. Another burstof emotion was thrilling him, but it was a softer emotion, which wasalready bringing a vague smile to his grief-stricken face. Lisa feltthat she had convinced him, and she turned and called to Pauline, whowas playing in the shop, and sat her on Quenu's knee. 

"Tell your father, Pauline, that he ought not to give way like this. Askhim nicely not to go on distressing us so. "

The child did as she was told, and their fat, sleek forms united in ageneral embrace. They all three looked at one another, already feelingcured of that twelve months' depression from which they had but justemerged. Their big, round faces smiled, and Lisa softly repeated, "Andafter all, my dear, there are only we three, you know, only we three. "

Two months later Florent was again sentenced to transportation. Theaffair caused a great stir. The newspapers published all possibledetails, and gave portraits of the accused, sketches of the banners andscarves, and plans of the places where the conspirators had met. For afortnight nothing but the great plot of the central markets was talkedof in Paris. The police kept on launching more and more alarmingreports, and it was at last even declared that the whole of theMontmartre Quarter was undermined. The excitement in the CorpsLegislatif was so intense that the members of the Centre and the Rightforgot their temporary disagreement over the Imperial Grant Bill, andbecame reconciled. And then by an overwhelming majority they voted theunpopular tax, of which even the lower classes, in the panic which wassweeping over the city, dared no longer complain. 

The trial lasted a week. Florent was very much surprised at the numberof accomplices with which he found himself credited. Out of the twentyand more who were placed in the dock with him, he knew only some sixor seven. After the sentence of the court had been read, he fanciedhe could see Robine's innocent-looking hat and back going off quietlythrough the crowd. Logre was acquitted, as was also Lacaille; Alexandrewas sentenced to two years' imprisonment for his child-like complicityin the conspiracy; while as for Gavard, he, like Florent, was condemnedto transportation. This was a heavy blow, which quite crushed him amidstthe final enjoyment that he derived from those lengthy proceedings inwhich he had managed to make himself so conspicuous. He was payingvery dearly for the way in which he had vented the spirit of perpetualopposition peculiar to the Paris shopkeeping classes. Two big tearscoursed down his scared face--the face of a white-haired child. 

And then one morning in August, amidst the busy awakening of themarkets, Claude Lantier, sauntering about in the thick of the arrivingvegetables, with his waist tightly girded by his red sash, came to graspMadame Francois's hand close by Saint Eustache. She was sitting on hercarrots and turnips, and her long face looked very sad. The artist, too, was gloomy, notwithstanding the bright sun which was already softeningthe deep-green velvet of the mountains of cabbages. 

"Well, it's all over now, " he said. "They are sending him back again. He's already on his way to Brest, I believe. "

Madame Francois made a gesture of mute grief. Then she gently waved herhand around, and murmured in a low voice; "Ah, it is all Paris's doing, this villainous Paris!"

"No, no, not quite that; but I know whose doing it is, the contemptiblecreatures!" exclaimed Claude, clenching his fists. "Do you know, MadameFrancois, there was nothing too ridiculous for those fellows in thecourt to say! Why, they even went ferreting in a child's copy-books!That great idiot of a Public Prosecutor made a tremendous fuss overthem, and ranted about the respect due to children, and the wickednessof demagogical education! It makes me quite sick to think of it all!"

A shudder of disgust shook him, and then, burying himself more deeplyin his discoloured cloak, he resumed: "To think of it! A man who wasas gentle as a girl! Why, I saw him turn quite faint at seeing a pigeonkilled! I couldn't help smiling with pity when I saw him between twogendarmes. Ah, well, we shall never see him again! He won't come backthis time. "

"He ought to have listened to me, " said Madame Francois, after a pause, "and have come to live at Nanterre with my fowls and rabbits. I wasvery fond of him, you see, for I could tell that he was a good-heartedfellow. Ah, we might have been so happy together! It's a sad pity. Well, we must bear it as best we can, Monsieur Claude. Come and see me one ofthese days. I'll have an omelet ready for you. "

Her eyes were dim with tears; but all at once she sprang up like a bravewoman who bears her sorrows with fortitude. 

"Ah!" she exclaimed, "here's old Mother Chantemesse coming to buy someturnips of me. The fat old lady's as sprightly as ever!"

Claude went off, and strolled about the footways. The dawn had risen inthe white sheaf of light at the end of the Rue Rambuteau; and the sun, now level with the house-tops, was diffusing rosy rays which alreadyfell in warm patches on the pavements. Claude was conscious of agay awakening in the huge resonant markets--indeed, all over theneighbourhood--crowded with piles of food. It was like the joy thatcomes after cure, the mirth of folks who are at last relieved of a heavyweight which has been pulling them down. He saw La Sarriette displayinga gold chain and singing amidst her plums and strawberries, while sheplayfully pulled the moustaches of Monsieur Jules, who was arrayed in avelvet jacket. He also caught sight of Madame Lecoeur and MademoiselleSaget passing along one of the covered ways, and looking less sallowthan usual--indeed, almost rosy--as they laughed like bosom friendsover some amusing story. In the fish market, old Madame Mehudin, whohad returned to her stall, was slapping her fish, abusing customers, andsnubbing the new inspector, a presumptuous young man whom she had swornto spank; while Claire, seemingly more languid and indolent than ever, extended her hands, blue from immersion in the water of her tanks, togather together a great heap of edible snails, shimmering with silveryslime. In the tripe market Auguste and Augustine, with the foolishexpression of newly-married people, had just been purchasing somepigs' trotters, and were starting off in a trap for their pork shop atMontrouge. Then, as it was now eight o'clock and already quite warm, Claude, on again coming to the Rue Rambuteau, perceived Muche andPauline playing at horses. Muche was crawling along on all-fours, whilePauline sat on his back, and clung to his hair to keep herself fromfalling. However, a moving shadow which fell from the eaves of themarket roof made Claude look up; and he then espied Cadine and Marjolinaloft, kissing and warming themselves in the sunshine, parading theirloves before the whole neighbourhood like a pair of light-heartedanimals. 

Claude shook his fist at them. All this joyousness down below and onhigh exasperated him. He reviled the Fat; the Fat, he declared, hadconquered the Thin. All around him he could see none but the Fatprotruding their paunches, bursting with robust health, and greetingwith delight another day of gorging and digestion. And a last blow wasdealt to him by the spectacle which he perceived on either hand as hehalted opposite the Rue Pirouette. 

On his right, the beautiful Norman, or the beautiful Madame Lebigre, asshe was now called, stood at the door of her shop. Her husband had atlength been granted the privilege of adding a State tobacco agency[*] tohis wine shop, a long-cherished dream of his which he had finallybeen able to realise through the great services he had rendered to theauthorities. And to Claude the beautiful Madame Lebigre looked superb, with her silk dress and her frizzed hair, quite ready to take her seatbehind her counter, whither all the gentlemen in the neighbourhoodflocked to buy their cigars and packets of tobacco. She had becomequite distinguished, quite the lady. The shop behind her had been newlypainted, with borders of twining vine-branches showing against a softbackground; the zinc-plated wine-counter gleamed brightly, and in thetall mirror the flasks of liqueurs set brighter flashes of colour thanever. And the mistress of all these things stood smiling radiantly atthe bright sunshine. 

 [*] Most readers will remember that the tobacco trade is a State monopoly in France. The retail tobacconists are merely Government agents. --Translator. 

Then, on Claude's left, the beautiful Lisa blocked up the doorway ofher shop as she stood on the threshold. Never before had her linen shonewith such dazzling whiteness; never had her serene face and rosy cheeksappeared in a more lustrous setting of glossy locks. She displayed thedeep calmness of repletion, a massive tranquillity unruffled even by asmile. She was a picture of absolute quietude, of perfect felicity, notonly cloudless but lifeless, the simple felicity of basking in the warmatmosphere. Her tightly stretched bodice seemed to be still digestingthe happiness of yesterday; while her dimpled hands, hidden in the foldsof her apron, did not even trouble to grasp at the happiness of to-day, certain as they were that it would come of itself. And the shop-windowat her side seemed to display the same felicity. It had recovered fromits former blight; the tongues lolled out, red and healthy; the hamshad regained their old chubbiness of form; the festoons of sausages nolonger wore that mournful air which had so greatly distressed Quenu. Hearty laughter, accompanied by a jubilant clattering of pans, soundedfrom the kitchen in the rear. The whole place again reeked with fathealth. The flitches of bacon and the sides of pork that hung againstthe marble showed roundly like paunches, triumphant paunches, whilstLisa, with her imposing breadth of shoulders and dignity of mien, badethe markets good morning with those big eyes of hers which so clearlybespoke a gross feeder. 

However, the two women bowed to each other. Beautiful Madame Lebigre andbeautiful Madame Quenu exchanged a friendly salute. 

And then Claude, who had certainly forgotten to dine on the previousday, was thrilled with anger at seeing them standing there, looking sohealthy and well-to-do with their buxom bosoms; and tightening his sash, he growled in a tone of irritation:

"What blackguards respectable people are!"