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, whomsome sub-prefect had transplanted to the south and then forgottenthere. He had remained in employment at the sub-prefecture, findingthe country charming, the wine good, and the women very amiable. Threeyears after his marriage he had been carried off by a bad attack ofindigestion, leaving as sole legacy to his wife a sturdy boy whoresembled him. It was only with very great difficulty that the widowcould pay the college fees of Florent, her elder son, the issue of herfirst marriage. He was a very gentle youth, devoted to his studies,and constantly won the chief prizes at school. It was upon him thathis mother lavished all her affection and based all her hopes.Perhaps, in bestowing so much love on this slim pale youth, she wasgiving evidence of her preference for her first husband, a tender-hearted, caressing Provencal, who had loved her devotedly. Quenu,whose good humour and amiability had at first attracted her, hadperhaps displayed too much self-satisfaction, and shown too plainlythat he looked upon himself as the main source of happiness. At allevents she formed the opinion that her younger son--and in southernfamilies younger sons are still often sacrificed--would never do anygood; so she contented herself with sending him to a school kept by aneighbouring old maid, where the lad learned nothing but how to idlehis time away. The two brothers grew up far apart from each other, asthough they were strangers.When Florent arrived at Le Vigan his mother was already buried. Shehad insisted upon having her illness concealed from him till the verylast moment, for fear of disturbing his studies. Thus he found littleQuenu, who was then twelve years old, sitting and sobbing alone on atable in the middle of the kitchen. A furniture dealer, a neighbour,gave him particulars of his mother's last hours. She had reached theend of her resources, had killed herself by the hard work which shehad undertaken to earn sufficient money that her elder son mightcontinue his legal studies. To her modest trade in ribbons, theprofits of which were but small, she had been obliged to add otheroccupations, which kept her up very late at night. Her one idea ofseeing Florent established as an advocate, holding a good position inthe town, had gradually caused her to become hard and miserly, withoutpity for either herself or others. Little Quenu was allowed to wanderabout in ragged breeches, and in blouses from which the sleeves werefalling away. He never dared to serve himself at table, but waitedtill he received his allowance of bread from his mother's hands. Shegave herself equally thin slices, and it was to the effects of thisregimen that she had succumbed, in deep despair at having failed toaccomplish her self-allotted task.This story made a most painful impression upon Florent's tendernature, and his sobs wellnigh choked him. He took his little halfbrother in his arms, held him to his breast, and kissed him as thoughto restore to him the love of which he had unwittingly deprived him.Then he looked at the lad's gaping shoes, torn sleeves, and dirtyhands, at all the manifest signs of wretchedness and neglect. And hetold him that he would take him away, and that they would both livehappily together. The next day, when he began to inquire into affairs,he felt afraid that he would not be able to keep sufficient money topay for the journey back to Paris. However, he was determined to leaveLe Vigan at any cost. He was fortunately able to sell the littleribbon business, and this enabled him to discharge his mother's debts,for despite her strictness in money matters she had gradually run upbills. Then, as there was nothing left, his mother's neighbour, thefurniture dealer, offered him five hundred francs for her chattels andstock of linen. It was a very good bargain for the dealer, but theyoung man thanked him with tears in his eyes. He bought his brothersome new clothes, and took him away that same evening.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 whichhe furnished with two iron bedsteads, a wardrobe, a table, and fourchairs. He now had a child to look after, and this assumed paternitywas very pleasing to him. During the earlier days he attempted to givethe lad some lessons when he returned home in the evening, but Quenuwas an unwilling pupil. He was dull of understanding, and refused tolearn, bursting into tears and regretfully recalling the time when hismother had allowed him to run wild in the streets. Florent thereuponstopped his lessons in despair, and to console the lad promised him aholiday of indefinite length. As an excuse for his own weakness herepeated that he had not brought his brother to Paris to distress him.To see him grow up in happiness became his chief desire. He quiteworshipped the boy, was charmed with his merry laughter, and feltinfinite joy in seeing him about him, healthy and vigorous, andwithout a care. Florent for his part remained very slim and lean inhis threadbare coat, and his face began to turn yellow amidst all thedrudgery and worry of teaching; but Quenu grew up plump and merry, alittle dense, indeed, and scarce able to read or write, but endowedwith high spirits which nothing could ruffle, and which filled the biggloomy room in the Rue Royer Collard with gaiety.Years, meantime, passed by. Florent, who had inherited all hismother's spirit of devotion, kept Quenu at home as though he were abig, idle girl. He did not even suffer him to perform any pettydomestic duties, but always went to buy the provisions himself, andattended to the cooking and other necessary matters. This kept him, hesaid, from indulging in his own bad thoughts. He was given togloominess, and fancied that he was disposed to evil. When he returnedhome in the evening, splashed with mud, and his head bowed by theannoyances to which other people's children had subjected him, hisheart melted beneath the embrace of the sturdy lad whom he foundspinning his top on the tiled flooring of the big room. Quenu laughedat his brother's clumsiness in making omelettes, and at the seriousfashion in which he prepared the soup-beef and vegetables. When thelamp was extinguished, and Florent lay in bed, he sometimes gave wayto feelings of sadness. He longed to resume his legal studies, andstrove to map out his duties in such wise as to secure time to followthe programme of the faculty. He succeeded in doing this, and was thenperfectly happy. But a slight attack of fever, which confined him tohis room for a week, made such a hole in his purse, and caused him somuch alarm, that he abandoned all idea of completing his studies. Theboy was now getting a big fellow, and Florent took a post as teacherin a school in the Rue de l'Estrapade, at a salary of eighteen hundredfrancs per annum. This seemed like a fortune to him. By dint ofeconomy he hoped to be able to amass a sum of money which would setQuenu going in the world. When the lad reached his eighteenth yearFlorent still treated him as though he were a daughter for whom adowry 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 thestreet, lived a working watchmaker whom Quenu, through the curtainlesswindow, could see leaning over a little table, manipulating all sortsof delicate things, and patiently gazing at them through a magnifyingglass all day long. The lad was much attracted by the sight, anddeclared that he had a taste for watchmaking. At the end of afortnight, however, he became restless, and began to cry like a childof ten, complaining that the work was too complicated, and that hewould never be able to understand all the silly little things thatenter into the construction of 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 differenttrades. Florent opined that he acted rightly, that it was wrong totake up a calling one did not like. However, Quenu's fine eagerness towork for his living strained the resources of the little establishmentvery seriously. Since he had begun flitting from one workshop toanother there had been a constant succession of fresh expenses; moneyhad gone in new clothes, in meals taken away from home, and in thepayment of footings among fellow workmen. Florent's salary of eighteenhundred francs was no longer sufficient, and he was obliged to take acouple of pupils in the evenings. For eight years he had continued towear the same 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 rear ofthe 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 aparticular feature of the Parisian provision trade. I can myselfrecollect several akin to the one described by M. Zola. I suspectthat they largely owed their origin to the form and dimensions ofthe ordinary Parisian kitchen stove, which did not enable peopleto roast poultry at home in a convenient way. In the old Frenchcuisine, 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 largelybought their poultry already cooked of the rotisseur, or elseconfided it to him for the purpose of roasting, in the same way asour poorer classes still send their joints to the baker's.Roasting was also long looked upon in France as a very delicateart. Brillat-Savarin, in his famous Physiologie du Gout, laysdown the dictum that "A man may become a cook, but is born arotisseur."--Translator.The broad copper bands of the fireplace glistened brightly, thepoultry steamed, the fat bubbled melodiously in the dripping-pan, andthe spits seemed to talk amongst themselves and to address kindlywords to Quenu, who, with a long ladle, devoutly basted the goldenbreasts of the fat geese and turkeys. He would stay there for hours,quite crimson in the dancing glow of the flames, and laughing vaguely,with a somewhat stupid expression, at the birds roasting in front ofhim. Indeed, he did not awake from this kind of trance until the geeseand turkeys were unspitted. They were placed on dishes, the spitsemerged from their carcasses smoking hot, and a rich gravy flowed fromeither end and filled the shop with a penetrating odour. Then the lad,who, standing up, had eagerly followed every phase of the dishing,would clap his hands and begin to talk to the birds, telling them thatthey were very nice, and would be eaten up, and that the cats wouldhave nothing but their bones. And he would give a start of delightwhenever Gavard handed him a slice of bread, which he forthwith putinto the dripping-pan that it might soak and toast there for half anhour.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 farewith the disdain of a man who is ignorant of it; but afterwards, onseeing that Florent listened to him when he explained the preparationof some very elaborate dish, he confessed his desires and presentlyfound a situation at a large restaurant. From that time forward thelife of the two brothers was settled. They continued to live in theroom in the Rue Royer Collard, whither they returned every evening;the one glowing and radiant from his hot fire, the other with thedepressed countenance of a shabby, impecunious teacher. Florent stillwore his old black coat, as he sat absorbed in correcting his pupils'exercises; while Quenu, to put himself more at ease, donned his whiteapron, cap, and jacket, and, flitting about in front of the stove,amused himself by baking some dainty in the oven. Sometimes theysmiled at seeing themselves thus attired, the one all in black, theother all in white. These different garbs, one bright and the othersombre, seemed to make the big room half gay and half mournful. Never,however, was there so much harmony in a household marked by suchdissimilarity. Though the elder brother grew thinner and thinner,consumed by the ardent temperament which he had inherited from hisProvencal father, and the younger one waxed fatter and fatter like atrue son of Normandy, they loved each other in the brotherhood theyderived from their mother--a mother who had been all devotion.They had a relation in Paris, a brother of their mother's, oneGradelle, who was in business as a pork butcher in the Rue Pirouette,near the central markets. He was a fat, hard-hearted, miserly fellow,and received his nephews as though they were starving paupers thefirst time they paid him a visit. They seldom went to see himafterwards. On his nameday Quenu would take him a bunch of flowers,and receive a half-franc piece in return for it. Florent's proud andsensitive nature suffered keenly when Gradelle scrutinised his shabbyclothes with the anxious, suspicious glance of a miser apprehending arequest for a dinner, or the loan of a five-franc piece. One day,however, it occurred to Florent in all artlessness to ask his uncle tochange a hundred-franc note for him, and after this the pork butchershowed less alarm at sight of the lads, as he called them. Still,their friendship got no further than 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 inthe world, 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 guardagainst the temptations of wickedness, he plunged into ideal goodness,and sought refuge in a self-created sphere of absolute truth andjustice. It was then that he became a republican, entering into therepublican idea even as heart-broken girls enter a convent. And notfinding a republic where sufficient peace and kindliness prevailed tolull his troubles to sleep, he created one for himself. He took nopleasure in books. All the blackened paper amidst which he lived spokeof evil-smelling class-rooms, of pellets of paper chewed by unrulyschoolboys, of long, profitless hours of torture. Besides, books onlysuggested to him a spirit of mutiny and pride, whereas it was of peaceand oblivion that he felt most need. To lull and soothe himself withthe ideal imaginings, to dream that he was perfectly happy, and thatall the world would likewise become so, to erect in his brain therepublican city in which he would fain have lived, such now became hisrecreation, the task, again and again renewed, of all his leisurehours. He no longer read any books beyond those which his dutiescompelled him to peruse; he preferred to tramp along the Rue SaintJacques as far as the outer boulevards, occasionally going yet agreater distance and returning by the Barriere d'Italie; and all alongthe road, with his eyes on the Quartier Mouffetard spread out at hisfeet, he would devise reforms of great moral and humanitarian scope,such as he thought would change that city of suffering into an abodeof bliss. During the turmoil of February 1848, when Paris was stainedwith blood he became quite heartbroken, and rushed from one to anotherof the public clubs demanding that the blood which had been shedshould find atonement in "the fraternal embrace of all republicansthroughout the world." He became one of those enthusiastic orators whopreached revolution as a new religion, full of gentleness andsalvation. The terrible days of December 1851, the days of the Coupd'Etat, were required to wean him from his doctrines of universallove. He was then without arms; allowed himself to be captured like asheep, and was treated as though he were a wolf. He awoke from hissermon 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 hisbrother did not return home. On the following day he went to seek hiscorpse at the cemetery of Montmartre, where the bodies of those shotdown on the boulevards had been laid out in a line and covered withstraw, from beneath which only their ghastly heads projected. However,Quenu's courage failed him, he was blinded by his tears, and had topass twice along the line of corpses before acquiring the certaintythat Florent's was not among them. At last, at the end of a long andwretched week, he learned at the Prefecture of Police that his brotherwas a prisoner. He was not allowed to see him, and when he pressed thematter the police threatened to arrest him also. Then he hastened offto his uncle Gradelle, whom he looked upon as a person of importance,hoping that he might be able to enlist his influence in Florent'sbehalf. But Gradelle waxed wrathful, declared that Florent deservedhis fate, that he ought to have known better than to have mixedhimself up with those rascally republicans. And he even added thatFlorent was destined to turn out badly, that it was written on hisface.Quenu wept copiously and remained there, almost choked by his sobs.His uncle, a little ashamed of his harshness, and feeling that heought to do something for him, offered to receive him into his house.He wanted an assistant, and knew that his nephew was a good cook.Quenu was so much alarmed by the mere thought of going back to livealone in the big room in the Rue Royer Collard, that then and there heaccepted Gradelle's offer. That same night he slept in his uncle'shouse, in a dark hole of a garret just under the room, where there wasscarcely space for him to lie at full length. However, he was lesswretched there than he would have been opposite his brother's emptycouch.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'sdeparture for Cayenne, he went upstairs, tapped Quenu on the hands,awoke him, and bluntly told him the news, thereby bringing about sucha reaction that on the following day the young man was up and aboutagain. His grief wore itself out, and his soft flabby flesh seemed toabsorb his tears. A month later he laughed again, and then grew vexedand unhappy with himself for having been merry; but his natural light-heartedness soon gained the mastery, and he laughed afresh inunconscious 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 fulluse of his nephew's acquirements, employed him to cook the dinnerssent out to certain customers, and placed all the broiling, and thepreparation of pork chops garnished with gherkins in his specialcharge. As the young man was of real service to him, he grew fond ofhim after his own fashion, and would nip his plump arms when he was ina good humour. Gradelle had sold the scanty furniture of the room inthe Rue Royer Collard and retained possession of the proceeds--someforty francs or so--in order, said he, to prevent the foolish lad,Quenu, from making ducks and drakes of the cash. After a time,however, he allowed his nephew six francs a month a pocket-money.Quenu now became quite happy, in spite of the emptiness of his purseand the harshness with which he was occasionally treated. He liked tohave life doled out to him; Florent had treated him too much like anindolent girl. Moreover, he had made a friend at his uncle's.Gradelle, when his wife died, had been obliged to engage a girl toattend to the shop, and had taken care to choose a healthy andattractive one, knowing that a good-looking girl would set off hisviands and help to tempt custom. Amongst his acquaintances was awidow, living in the Rue Cuvier, near the Jardin des Plantes, whosedeceased husband had been postmaster at Plassans, the seat of asub-prefecture in the south of France. This lady, who lived in a verymodest fashion on a small annuity, had brought with her from Plassansa plump, pretty child, whom she treated as her own daughter. Lisa, asthe young one was called, attended upon her with much placidity andserenity of disposition. Somewhat seriously inclined, she looked quitebeautiful when she smiled. Indeed, her great charm came from theexquisite manner in which she allowed this infrequent smile of hers toescape her. Her eyes then became most caressing, and her habitualgravity imparted inestimable value to these sudden, seductive flashes.The old lady had often said that one of Lisa's smiles would suffice tolure 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 alonein the Rue Cuvier; it was there that Gradelle came in search of her.He had become acquainted with her by often seeing her with hermistress when the latter called on him in the Rue Pirouette; and atthe funeral she had struck him as having grown so handsome and sturdythat he had followed the hearse all the way to the cemetery, though hehad not intended to do so. As the coffin was being lowered into thegrave, he reflected what a splendid girl she would be for the counterof a pork butcher's shop. He thought the matter over, and finallyresolved to offer her thirty francs a month, with board and lodging.When he made this proposal, Lisa asked for twenty-four hours toconsider it. Then she arrived one morning with a little bundle ofclothes, and her ten thousand francs concealed in the bosom of herdress. A month later the whole place belonged to her; she enslavedGradelle, Quenu, and even the smallest kitchen-boy. For his part,Quenu would have cut off his fingers to please her. When she happenedto smile, he remained rooted to the floor, laughing with delight as hegazed 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 supporther family. Then she would speak of the respective duties of husbandand wife in such a practical though modest fashion as to enchantQuenu. He assured her that he fully shared her ideas. These were thateveryone, man or woman, ought to work for his or her living, thateveryone was charged with the duty of achieving personal happiness,that great harm was done by encouraging habits of idleness, and thatthe presence of so much misery in the world was greatly due to sloth.This theory of hers was a sweeping condemnation of drunkenness, of allthe legendary loafing ways of her father Macquart. But, though she didnot know it, there was much of Macquart's nature in herself. She wasmerely a steady, sensible Macquart with a logical desire for comfort,having grasped the truth of the proverb that as you make your bed soyou lie on it. To sleep in blissful warmth there is no better planthan to prepare oneself a soft and downy couch; and to the preparationof such a couch she gave all her time and all her thoughts. When nomore than six years old she had consented to remain quietly on herchair the whole day through on condition that she should be rewardedwith a cake in the evening.[*] See M. Zola's novel, The Fortune of the Rougons.--TranslatorAt Gradelle's establishment Lisa went on leading the calm, methodicallife which her exquisite smiles illumined. She had not accepted thepork butcher's offer at random. She reckoned upon finding a guardianin him; with the keen scent of those who are born lucky she perhapsforesaw that the gloomy shop in the Rue Pirouette would bring her thecomfortable future she dreamed of--a life of healthy enjoyment, andwork without fatigue, each hour of which would bring its own reward.She attended to her counter with the quiet earnestness with which shehad waited upon the postmaster's widow; and the cleanliness of heraprons soon became proverbial in the neighbourhood. Uncle Gradelle wasso charmed with this pretty girl that sometimes, as he was stringinghis sausages, he would say to Quenu: "Upon my word, if I weren'tturned sixty, I think I should be foolish enough to marry her. A wifelike she'd make is worth her weight in gold to a shopkeeper, my lad."Quenu himself was growing still fonder of her, though he laughedmerrily one day when a neighbour accused him of being in love withLisa. He was not worried with love-sickness. The two were very goodfriends, however. In the evening they went up to their bedroomstogether. Lisa slept in a little chamber adjoining the dark hole whichthe young man occupied. She had made this room of hers quite bright byhanging it with muslin curtains. The pair would stand together for amoment on the landing, holding their candles in their hands, andchatting as they unlocked their doors. Then, as they closed them, theysaid 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 she be doing, I wonder, in front of her chest of drawers?Ah! she's sitting down now and taking off her shoes. Now she's blownher candle out. Well, good night. I must get to sleep"; and at times,when he heard her bed creak as she got into it, he would say tohimself with a smile, "Dash it all! Mademoiselle Lisa is no feather."This idea seemed to amuse him, and presently he would fall asleepthinking about the hams and salt pork that he had to prepare the nextmorning.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 helpedhim, holding the skins with her plump fingers while he filled themwith meat and fat. Sometimes, too, with the tips of their tongues theyjust tasted the raw sausage-meat, to see if it was properly seasoned.She was able to give Quenu some useful hints, for she knew of manyfavourite southern recipes, with which he experimented with muchsuccess. He was often aware that she was standing behind his shoulder,prying into the pans. If he wanted a spoon or a dish, she would handit to him. The heat of the fire would bring their blood to theirskins; still, nothing in the world would have induced the young man tocease stirring the fatty bouillis which were thickening over thefire while the girl stood gravely by him, discussing the amount ofboiling that was necessary. In the afternoon, when the shop lackedcustomers, they quietly chatted together for hours at a time. Lisa satbehind the counter, leaning back, and knitting in an easy, regularfashion; while Quenu installed himself on a big oak block, danglinghis legs and tapping his heels against the wood. They got onwonderfully well together, discussing all sorts of subjects, generallycookery, and then Uncle Gradelle and the neighbours. Lisa also amusedthe young man with stories, just as though he were a child. She knewsome very pretty ones--some miraculous legends, full of lambs andlittle angels, which she narrated in a piping voice, with all herwonted seriousness. If a customer happened to come in, she savedherself the trouble of moving by asking Quenu to get the required potof lard 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 thedead man could not be left lying in the middle of the kitchen, and hadthe body removed into a little back room where Gradelle had slept.Then she arranged with the assistants what should be said. It must begiven out that the master had died in his bed; otherwise the wholedistrict would be disgusted, and the shop would lose its customers.Quenu helped to carry the dead man away, feeling quite confused, andastonished at being unable to shed any tears. Presently, however, heand Lisa cried together. Quenu and his brother Florent were the soleheirs. The gossips of the neighbourhood credited old Gradelle with thepossession of a considerable fortune. However, not a single crowncould be discovered. Lisa seemed very restless and uneasy. Quenunoticed how pensive she became, how she kept on looking around herfrom morning till night, as though she had lost something. At last shedecided to have a thorough cleaning of the premises, declaring thatpeople were beginning to talk, that the story of the old man's deathhad got about, and that it was necessary they should make a great showof cleanliness. One afternoon, after remaining in the cellar for acouple of hours, whither she herself had gone to wash the salting-tubs, she came up again, carrying something in her apron. Quenu wasjust then cutting up a pig's fry. She waited till he had finished,talking awhile in an easy, indifferent fashion. But there was anunusual glitter in her eyes, and she smiled her most charming smile asshe told him that she wanted to speak to him. She led the way upstairswith seeming difficulty, impeded by what she had in her apron, whichwas 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 ofgold and silver coins to flow gently upon her bed. She had discoveredUncle Gradelle's treasure at the bottom of a salting-tub. The heap ofmoney made a deep impression in the softy downy bed.Lisa and Quenu evinced a quiet delight. They sat down on the edge ofthe bed, Lisa at the head and Quenu at the foot, on either side of theheap of coins, and they counted the money out upon the counterpane, soas to avoid making any noise. There were forty thousand francs ingold, and three thousand francs in silver, whilst in a tin box theyfound bank notes to the value of forty-two thousand francs. It tookthem two hours to count up the treasure. Quenu's hands trembledslightly, and it was Lisa who did most of the work.They arranged the gold on the pillow in little heaps, leaving thesilver in the hollow depression of the counterpane. When they hadascertained the total amount--eighty-five thousand francs, to them anenormous sum--they began to chat. And their conversation naturallyturned upon their future, and they spoke of their marriage, althoughthere had never been any previous mention of love between them. Butthis heap of money seemed to loosen their tongues. They had graduallyseated themselves further back on the bed, leaning against the wall,beneath the white muslin curtains; and as they talked together, theirhands, playing with the heap of silver between them, met, and remainedlinked amidst the pile of five-franc pieces. Twilight surprised themstill sitting together. Then, for the first time, Lisa blushed atfinding the young man by her side. For a few moments, indeed, althoughnot a thought of evil had come to them, they felt much embarrassed.Then Lisa went to get her own ten thousand francs. Quenu wanted her toput them with his uncle's savings. He mixed the two sums together,saying with a laugh that the money must be married also. Then it wasagreed that Lisa should keep the hoard in her chest of drawers. Whenshe had locked it up they both quietly went downstairs. They were nowpractically husband and wife.The wedding took place during the following month. The neighboursconsidered the match a very natural one, and in every way suitable.They had vaguely heard the story of the treasure, and Lisa's honestywas the subject of endless eulogy. After all, said the gossips, shemight well have kept the money herself, and not have spoken a word toQuenu about it; if she had spoken, it was out of pure honesty, for noone had seen her find the hoard. She well deserved, they added, thatQuenu should make her his wife. That Quenu, by the way, was a luckyfellow; he wasn't a beauty himself, yet he had secured a beautifulwife, who had disinterred a fortune for him. Some even went so far asto whisper that Lisa was a simpleton for having acted as she had done;but the young woman only smiled when people speaking to her vaguelyalluded to all these things. She and her husband lived on aspreviously, in happy placidity and quiet affection. She still assistedhim as before, their hands still met amidst the sausage-meat, shestill glanced over his shoulder into the pots and pans, and stillnothing but the great fire in the kitchen brought the blood to theircheeks.However, Lisa was a woman of practical common sense, and speedily sawthe folly of allowing eighty-five thousand francs to lie idle in achest of drawers. Quenu would have willingly stowed them away again atthe bottom of the salting-tub until he had gained as much more, whenthey could have retired from business and have gone to live atSuresnes, a suburb to which both were partial. Lisa, however, hadother ambitions. The Rue Pirouette did not accord with her ideas ofcleanliness, her craving for fresh air, light, and healthy life. Theshop where Uncle Gradelle had accumulated his fortune, sou by sou, wasa long, dark place, one of those suspicious looking pork butchers'shops of the old quarters of the city, where the well-worn flagstonesretain a strong odour of meat in spite of constant washings. Now theyoung woman longed for one of those bright modern shops, ornamentedlike a drawing-room, and fringing the footway of some broad streetwith windows of crystalline transparence. She was not actuated by anypetty ambition to play the fine lady behind a stylish counter, butclearly realised that commerce in its latest development neededelegant surroundings. Quenu showed much alarm the first time his wifesuggested that they ought to move and spend some of their money indecorating a new shop. However, Lisa only shrugged her shoulders andsmiled 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'tbuy a bit of black-pudding from them now on any account. They had adead man in 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;he laid out over thirty thousand francs in marble, glass, and gilding.Lisa spent hours with the workmen, giving her views about theslightest details. When she was at last installed behind the counter,customers arrived in a perfect procession, merely for the sake ofexamining the shop. The inside walls were lined from top to bottomwith white marble. The ceiling was covered with a huge square mirror,framed by a broad gilded cornice, richly ornamented, whilst from thecentre hung a crystal chandelier with four branches. And behind thecounter, and on the left, and at the far end of the shop were othermirrors, fitted between the marble panels and looking like doorsopening into an infinite series of brightly lighted halls, where allsorts of appetising edibles were displayed. The huge counter on theright hand was considered a very fine piece of work. At intervalsalong the front were lozenge-shaped panels of pinky marble. Theflooring was of tiles, alternately white and pink, with a deep redfretting as border. The whole neighbourhood was proud of the shop, andno one again thought of referring to the kitchen in the Rue Pirouette,where a man had died. For quite a month women stopped short on thefootway to look at Lisa between the saveloys and bladders in thewindow. Her white and pink flesh excited as much admiration as themarbles. She seemed to be the soul, the living light, the healthy,sturdy idol of the pork trade; and thenceforth one and all baptisedher "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 oflight oak. The matting on the floor, the wallpaper of a soft yellowtint, the oil-cloth table-cover, coloured to imitate oak, gave theroom a somewhat cold appearance, which was relieved only by theglitter of a brass hanging lamp, suspended from the ceiling, andspreading its big shade of transparent porcelain over the table. Oneof the dining-room doors opened into the huge square kitchen, at theend of which was a small paved courtyard, serving for the storage oflumber--tubs, barrels and pans, and all kinds of utensils not in use.To the left of the water-tap, alongside the gutter which carried offthe greasy water, stood pots of faded flowers, removed from the shopwindow, and slowly dying.Business was excellent. Quenu, who had been much alarmed by theinitial outlay, now regarded his wife with something like respect, andtold his friends that she had "a wonderful head." At the end of fiveyears they had nearly eighty thousand francs invested in the Statefunds. Lisa would say that they were not ambitious, that they had nodesire to pile up money too quickly, or else she would have enabledher husband to gain hundreds and thousands of francs by prompting himto embark in the wholesale pig trade. But they were still young, andhad plenty of time before them; besides, they didn't care about arough, scrambling business, but preferred to work at their ease, andenjoy life, instead of 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 money isthat 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 allthose millions of my cousin's. I can't say that I altogether believein them. I caught sight of him the other day in his carriage. He wasquite yellow, and looked ever so sly. A man who's making money doesn'thave that kind of expression. But it's his business, and not mine. Forour part, we prefer to make merely a hundred sous at a time, and toget a hundred sous' worth of enjoyment out of them."[*] See M. Zola's novel, Money.The household was undoubtedly thriving. A daughter had been born tothe young 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 freeof any possible source of trouble or anxiety, and the days went by inan atmosphere of peaceful, unctuous prosperity. Their home was a nookof sensible happiness--a comfortable manger, so to speak, wherefather, mother, and daughter could grow sleek and fat. It was onlyQuenu who occasionally felt sad, through thinking of his brotherFlorent. Up to the year 1856 he had received letters from him at longintervals. Then no more came, and he had learned from a newspaper thatthree convicts having attempted to escape from the Ile du Diable, hadbeen drowned before they were able to reach the mainland. He had madeinquiries at the Prefecture of Police, but had not learnt anythingdefinite; it seemed probable that his brother was dead. However, hedid not lose all hope, though months passed without any tidings.Florent, in the meantime, was wandering about Dutch Guiana, andrefrained from writing home as he was ever in hope of being able toreturn to France. Quenu at last began to mourn for him as one mournsfor those whom one has been unable to bid farewell. Lisa had neverknown Florent, but she spoke very kindly whenever she saw her husbandgive way to his sorrow; and she evinced no impatience when for thehundredth time or so he began to relate stories of his early days, ofhis life in the big room in the Rue Royer Collard, the thirty-sixtrades which he had taken up one after another, and the dainties whichhe had cooked at the stove, dressed all in white, while Florent wasdressed all in black. To such talk as this, indeed, she listenedplacidly, 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 caused agreat commotion. Gavard advised them to conceal the "outlaw," as hesomewhat 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, andwent to 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 ofanother three days Florent was on his feet again. Then one morningQuenu went up to tell him that Lisa awaited them in her room on thefirst 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 lightblue of the upholstery from fading. Then came the bedroom, the onlyone of the three which was really used. It was very comfortablyfurnished in mahogany. The bed, bulky and drowsy of aspect in thedepths of the damp alcove, was really wonderful, with its fourmattresses, its four pillows, its layers of blankets, and itscorpulent edredon. It was evidently a bed intended for slumber. Amirrored wardrobe, a washstand with drawers, a small central tablewith a worked cover, and several chairs whose seats were protected bysquares of lace, gave the room an aspect of plain but substantialmiddle-class luxury. On the left-hand wall, on either side of themantelpiece, which was ornamented with some landscape-painted vasesmounted on bronze stands, and a gilt timepiece on which a figure ofGutenberg, also gilt, stood in an attitude of deep thought, hungportraits in oils of Quenu and Lisa, in ornate oval frames. Quenu hada smiling face, while Lisa wore an air of grave propriety; and bothwere dressed in black and depicted in flattering fashion, theirfeatures idealised, their skins wondrously smooth, their complexionssoft and pinky. A carpet, in the Wilton style, with a complicatedpattern of roses mingling with stars, concealed the flooring; while infront of the bed was a fluffy mat, made out of long pieces of curlywool, a work of patience at which Lisa herself had toiled while seatedbehind her counter. But the most striking object of all in the midstof this array of new furniture was a great square, thick-setsecretaire, which had been re-polished in vain, for the cracks andnotches in the marble top and the scratches on the old mahogany front,quite black with age, still showed plainly. Lisa had desired to retainthis piece of furniture, however, as Uncle Gradelle had used it formore than forty years. It would bring them good luck, she said. It'smetal fastenings were truly something terrible, it's lock was likethat of a prison gate, and it was so heavy that it could scarcely bemoved.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 airof surprise."There!" at last exclaimed Lisa, after having carefully verified awhole page of calculations. "Listen to me now; we have an account torender to you, my dear Florent."It was the first time that she had so addressed him. However, takingup the page of figures, she continued: "Your Uncle Gradelle diedwithout leaving a will. Consequently you and your brother are his soleheirs. We now 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 ofdispleasure. Of course, he certainly loved his brother dearly; butthere was no occasion to hurl his uncle's money at him in this way.There would have been 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 thingssettled at once. Your uncle's savings amounted to eighty-five thousandfrancs. I have therefore put down forty-two thousand five hundred toyour 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 down approximateamounts, but I don't think I have underestimated anything. Well, thetotal valuation which I have made comes to fifteen thousand threehundred 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 forit!"He had ended by getting quite angry with his wife. Really, it wasabsurd to carry honesty to such a point as that! Had Florent said oneword about the business? No, indeed, he had declared that he didn'twish for anything."The business was worth fifteen thousand three hundred and tenfrancs," Lisa re-asserted, calmly. "You will agree with me, my dearFlorent, that it is quite unnecessary to bring a lawyer into ouraffairs. It is for us to arrange the division between ourselves, sinceyou have now turned up again. I naturally thought of this as soon asyou arrived; and, while you were in bed with the fever, I did my bestto draw up this little inventory. It contains, as you see, a fairlycomplete statement of everything. I have been through our old books,and have called up my memory to help me. Read it aloud, and I willgive you any additional information 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, "hecertainly wasn't over fond of you."Lisa, however, still pressed the matter. She did not like to havemoney in her secretaire that did not belong to her; it would worryher, said she; the thought of it would disturb her peace. ThereuponFlorent, still in a joking way, proposed to invest his share in thebusiness. Moreover, said he, he did not intend to refuse their help;he would, no doubt, be unable to find employment all at once; andthen, too, he would need a complete outfit, for he was scarcelypresentable."Of course," cried Quenu, "you will board and lodge with us, and wewill buy you all that you want. That's understood. You know very wellthat we are 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 amountof money all at once. He began to joke, and told his brother that hewould undertake to fatten him. Florent gently shook his hand; whileLisa folded 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 Iwas bound to do. Now it shall be as you wish. But, for my part, Ishould never have had a moment's peace if I had not put things beforeyou. Bad thoughts 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, andthat they, the Quenu-Gradelles, as they were called in theneighbourhood, had received him into their house until he could findsuitable employment. When this was all settled, Quenu insisted uponhis brother making a thorough inspection of the rooms, and would notspare him the examination of a single stool. Whilst they were in thebare looking chamber containing nothing but chairs, Lisa pushed open adoor, and showing Florent a small dressing room, told him that theshop girl should sleep in it, so that he could retain the bedroom onthe fifth floor.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,much against the advice of Quenu, upon whom black had a depressingeffect. No further attempts were made to conceal his presence in thehouse, and Lisa told the story which had been planned to everyone whocared to hear it. Henceforth Florent spent almost all his time on thepremises, lingering on a chair in the kitchen or leaning against themarble-work in the shop. At meal times Quenu plied him with food, andevinced considerable vexation when he proved such a small eater andleft half the contents of his liberally filled plate untouched. Lisahad resumed her old life, evincing a kindly tolerance of her brother-in-law's presence, even in the morning, when he somewhat interferedwith the work. Then she would momentarily forget him, and on suddenlyperceiving his black form in front of her give a slight start ofsurprise, followed, however, by one of her sweet smiles, lest he mightfeel at all hurt. This skinny man's disinterestedness had impressedher, and she regarded him with a feeling akin to respect, mingled withvague fear. Florent had for his part only felt that there was greataffection around him.When bedtime came he went upstairs, a little wearied by his lazy day,with the two young men whom Quenu employed as assistants, and whoslept in attics adjoining his own. Leon, the apprentice, was barelyfifteen years of age. He was a slight, gentle looking lad, addicted tostealing stray slices of ham and bits of sausages. These he wouldconceal under his pillow, eating them during the night without anybread. Several times at about one o'clock in the morning Florentalmost fancied that Leon was giving a supper-party; for he heard lowwhispering followed by a sound of munching jaws and rustling paper.And then a rippling girlish laugh would break faintly on the deepsilence of the sleeping house like the 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 onthe first evening, he told him his story in a confused, garrulous way.He had at first come to Paris merely for the purpose of perfectinghimself in the business, intending to return to Troyes, where hiscousin, Augustine Landois, was waiting for him, and there setting upfor himself as a pork butcher. He and she had had the game godfatherand bore virtually the same Christian name. However, he had grownambitious; and now hoped to establish himself in business in Paris bythe aid of the money left him by his mother, which he had depositedwith a notary before 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 AugustineLandois to replace an assistant who had turned out badly. He himselfwas now thoroughly acquainted with his part of the business, and hiscousin was perfecting herself in shop management. In a year oreighteen months they would be married, and then they would set up ontheir own account in some populous corner of Paris, at Plaisance mostlikely. They were in no great hurry, he added, for the bacon trade wasvery bad that year. Then he proceeded to tell Florent that he and hiscousin had been photographed together at the fair of St. Ouen, and heentered the attic to have another look at the photograph, whichAugustine had left on the mantelpiece, in her desire that MadameQuenu's cousin should have a pretty room. Auguste lingered there for amoment, looking quite livid in the dim yellow light of his candle, andcasting his eyes around the little chamber which was still full ofmemorials of the young girl. Next, stepping up to the bed, he askedFlorent if it was comfortable. His cousin slept below now, said he,and would be better there in the winter, for the attics were verycold. Then at last he went off, leaving Florent alone with the bed,and standing in front of the photograph. As shown on the latterAuguste looked like a sort of pale Quenu, and Augustine like animmature 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 takecharge of the correspondence and keep the books. She returned to thissubject again and again, and at last offered to find a berth for himherself. She was gradually becoming impatient at finding him so oftenin her way, idle, and not knowing what to do with himself. At firstthis impatience was merely due to the dislike she felt of people whodo nothing but cross their arms and eat, and she had no thought ofreproaching him for consuming her substance."For my own part," she would say to him, "I could never spend thewhole day in dreamy lounging. You can't have any appetite for yourmeals. You ought 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 fourGovernments. He still contemptuously shrugged his shoulders at thethought of Charles X, the priests and nobles and other attendantrabble, whom he had helped to sweep away. Louis Philippe, with hisbourgeois following, had been an imbecile, and he could tell how thecitizen-king had hoarded his coppers in a woollen stocking. As for theRepublic of '48, that had been a mere farce, the working classes haddeceived him; however, he no longer acknowledged that he had applaudedthe Coup d'Etat, for he now looked upon Napoleon III as his personalenemy, a scoundrel who shut himself up with Morny and others toindulge in gluttonous orgies. He was never weary of holding forth uponthis subject. Lowering his voice a little, he would declare that womenwere brought to the Tuileries in closed carriages every evening, andthat he, who was speaking, had one night heard the echoes of theorgies while crossing the Place du Carrousel. It was Gavard's religionto make himself as disagreeable as possible to any existingGovernment. He would seek to spite it in all sorts of ways, and laughin secret for several months at the pranks he played. To begin with,he voted for candidates who would worry the Ministers at the CorpsLegislatif. Then, if he could rob the revenue, or baffle the police,and bring about a row of some kind or other, he strove to give theaffair as much of an insurrectionary character as possible. He told agreat many lies, too; set himself up as being a very dangerous man;talked as though "the satellites of the Tuileries" were wellacquainted with him and trembled at the sight of him; and assertedthat one half of them must be guillotined, and the other halftransported, the next time there was "a flare-up." His violentpolitical creed found food in boastful, bragging talk of this sort; hedisplayed all the partiality for a lark and a rumpus which prompts aParisian shopkeeper to take down his shutters on a day of barricade-fighting to get a good view of the corpses of the slain. When Florentreturned from Cayenne, Gavard opined that he had got hold of asplendid chance for some abominable trick, and bestowed much thoughtupon the question of how he might best vent his spleen on the Emperorand Ministers and everyone in office, down to the very lowest policeconstable.Gavard's manners with Florent were altogether those of a man tastingsome forbidden pleasure. He contemplated him with blinking eyes,lowered his voice even when making the most trifling remark, andgrasped his hand with all sorts of masonic flummery. He had at lastlighted upon something in the way of an adventure; he had a friend whowas really compromised, and could, without falsehood speak of thedangers he incurred. He undoubtedly experienced a secret alarm at thesight of this man who had returned from transportation, and whosefleshlessness testified to the long sufferings he had endured;however, this touch of alarm was delightful, for it increased hisnotion of his own importance, and convinced him that he was reallydoing something wonderful in treating a dangerous character as afriend. Florent became a sort of sacred being in his eyes: he swore byhim alone, and had recourse to his name whenever arguments failed himand he wanted to crush the Government once and for all.Gavard had lost his wife in the Rue Saint Jacques some months afterthe Coup d'Etat; however, he had kept on his roasting shop till 1856.At that time it was reported that he had made large sums of money bygoing into partnership with a neighbouring grocer who had obtained acontract for supplying dried vegetables to the Crimean expeditionarycorps. The truth was, however, that, having sold his shop, he lived onhis income for a year without doing anything. He himself did not careto talk about the real origin of his fortune, for to have revealed itwould have prevented him from plainly expressing his opinion of theCrimean War, which he referred to as a mere adventurous expedition,"undertaken simply to consolidate the throne and to fill certainpersons' pockets." At the end of a year he had grown utterly weary oflife in his bachelor quarters. As he was in the habit of visiting theQuenu-Gradelles almost daily, he determined to take up his residencenearer to them, and came to live in the Rue de la Cossonnerie. Theneighbouring markets, with their noisy uproar and endless chatter,quite fascinated him; and he decided to hire a stall in the poultrypavilion, just for the purpose of amusing himself and occupying hisidle hours with all the gossip. Thenceforth he lived amidst ceaselesstittle-tattle, acquainted with every little scandal in theneighbourhood, his head buzzing with the incessant yelping around him.He blissfully tasted a thousand titillating delights, having at lastfound his true element, and bathing in it, with the voluptuouspleasure of a carp swimming in the sunshine. Florent would sometimesgo to see him at his stall. The afternoons were still very warm. Allalong the narrow alleys sat women plucking poultry. Rays of lightstreamed in between the awnings, and in the warm atmosphere, in thegolden dust of the sunbeams, feathers fluttered hither and thitherlike dancing snowflakes. A trail of coaxing calls and offers followedFlorent as he passed along. "Can I sell you a fine duck, monsieur?""I've some very fine fat chickens here, monsieur; come and see!""Monsieur! monsieur, do just buy this pair of pigeons!" Deafened andembarrassed 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, infront of his stall, with his arms crossed over the bib of his blueapron. He reigned there, in a gracious, condescending way, over agroup of ten or twelve women. He was the only male dealer in that partof the market. He was so fond of wagging his tongue that he hadquarrelled with five or six girls whom he had successively engaged toattend to his stall, and had now made up his mind to sell his goodshimself, naively explaining that the silly women spent the wholeblessed day in gossiping, and that it was beyond his power to managethem. As someone, however, was still necessary to supply his placewhenever he absented himself he took in Marjolin, who was prowlingabout, after attempting in turn all the petty market callings.Florent sometimes remained for an hour with Gavard, amazed by hisceaseless flow of chatter, and his calm serenity and assurance amidthe crowd of petticoats. He would interrupt one woman, pick a quarrelwith another ten stalls away, snatch a customer from a third, and makeas much noise himself as his hundred and odd garrulous neighbours,whose incessant 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 longand withered, 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 whereshe herself sold butter and eggs and cheese, she accused him of doingso simply for the sake of annoying her and bringing her bad luck. Fromthat moment she began to lament, and turned so yellow and melancholythat she indeed ended by losing her customers and getting intodifficulties. She had for a long time kept with her the daughter ofone of her sisters, a peasant woman who had sent her the child andthen taken no further trouble 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 ageshe had developed into such a charming sly-looking puss that gentlemencame to buy cheeses at her aunt's stall simply for the purpose ofogling her. She did not care for the gentlemen, however; with her darkhair, pale face, and eyes glistening like live embers, her sympathieswere with the lower ranks of the people. At last she chose as herlover a young man from Menilmontant who was employed by her aunt as aporter. At twenty she set up in business as a fruit dealer with thehelp of some funds procured no one knew how; and thenceforth MonsieurJules, as her lover was called, displayed spotless hands, a cleanblouse, and a velvet cap; and only came down to the market in theafternoon, in his slippers. They lived together on the third storey ofa large house in the Rue Vauvilliers, on the ground floor of which wasa 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 themost violent and abusive language. They broke off all intercourse, theaunt fairly exasperated, and the niece and Monsieur Jules concoctingstories about the aunt, which the young man would repeat to the otherdealers in the butter pavilion. Gavard found La Sarriette veryentertaining, and treated her with great indulgence. Whenever they methe would good-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, whohad 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.It was 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 ofthe flooring. Twice already had she risen to scatter sawdust about theshop. 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 thento repeat these words, which he made me learn by heart: 'Ask them ifthere is no danger, and if I can come and talk to them of the matterthey know about.'""Tell Monsieur Gavard that we are expecting him," replied Lisa, whowas quite 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 sawyou clambering about the roofs of the market again; and, besides, youare constantly with a lot of disreputable lads and lasses. You oughtto remember 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 cutthree chops in a loin of pork; and then, raising a small cleaver withher strong hand, dealt three sharp blows which separated the chopsfrom the loin. At each blow she dealt, her black merino dress roseslightly behind her, and the ribs of her stays showed beneath hertightly stretched bodice. She slowly took up the chops and weighedthem with an air of gravity, her eyes gleaming and her lips tightlyclosed.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 thetripe market, watching men breaking the sheep's heads. I can'tunderstand what attraction a good-looking young fellow like you canfind in such a slipshod slattern as Cadine. Now then, go and tellMonsieur Gavard that he had better come at once, while there's no oneabout."Marjolin thereupon went off in confusion, without saying a word.Handsome Lisa remained standing behind her counter, with her headturned slightly in the direction of her markets, and Florent gazed ather in silence, surprised to see her looking so beautiful. He hadnever looked at her properly before; indeed, he did not know the rightway to look at a woman. He now saw her rising above the viands on thecounter. In front of her was an array of white china dishes,containing long Arles and Lyons sausages, slices of which had alreadybeen cut off, with tongues and pieces of boiled pork; then a pig'shead in a mass of jelly; an open pot of preserved sausage-meat, and alarge box of sardines disclosing a pool of oil. On the right and left,upon wooden platters, were mounds of French and Italian brawn, acommon French ham, of a pinky hue, and a Yorkshire ham, whose deep redlean showed beneath a broad band of fat. There were other dishes too,round ones and oval ones, containing spiced tongue, truffledgalantine, and a boar's head stuffed with pistachio nuts; while closeto her, in reach of her hand, stood some yellow earthen panscontaining 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 thejars of lard and dripping back into their places, wiped the plates ofeach pair of scales, and saw to the fire of the heater, which wasgetting low. Then she turned her head again, and gazed in silencetowards the markets. The smell of all the viands ascended around her,she was enveloped, as it were, by the aroma of truffles. She lookedbeautifully fresh that afternoon. The whiteness of all the dishes wassupplemented by that of her sleevelets and apron, above which appearedher plump neck and rosy cheeks, which recalled the soft tones of thehams and the pallor 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 openlylooking at her he ended by glancing surreptitiously in the mirrorsaround the shop, in which her back and face and profile could be seen.The mirror on the ceiling, too, reflected the top of her head, withits tightly rolled chignon and the little bands lowered over hertemples. There seemed, indeed, to be a perfect crowd of Lisas, withbroad shoulders, powerful arms, and round, full bosoms. At lastFlorent checked his roving eyes, and let them rest on a particularlypleasing side view of the young woman as mirrored between two piecesof pork. From the hooks running along the whole line of mirrors andmarbles hung sides of pork and bands of larding fat; and Lisa, withher massive neck, rounded hips, and swelling bosom seen in profile,looked like some waxwork queen in the midst of the dangling fat andmeat. However, she bent forward and smiled in a friendly way at thetwo gold-fish which were ever and ever swimming round the aquarium inthe 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 Lisabehind the counter; Quenu meantime leaning his back against a side ofpork. And thereupon Gavard announced that he had at last found asituation for Florent. They would be vastly amused when they heardwhat it was, and the Government would be nicely caught.But all at once he stopped short, for a passing neighbour,Mademoiselle Saget, having seen such a large party gossiping togetherat the Quenu-Gradelles', had opened the door and entered the shop.Carrying her everlasting black ribbonless straw hat, whichappropriately cast a shadow over her prying white face, she salutedthe men with a slight bow and Lisa with a sharp smile.She was an acquaintance of the family, and still lived in the house inthe 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 hadbeen born there. Nothing further was ever known of her antecedents.All her conversation was about other people; she could tell the wholestory of their daily lives, even to the number of things they sent tobe washed each month; and she carried her prying curiosity concerningher neighbours' affairs so far as to listen behind their doors andopen their letters. Her tongue was feared from the Rue Saint Denis tothe Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau, and from the Rue Saint Honore to theRue Mauconseil. All day long she went ferreting about with her emptybag, pretending that she was marketing, but in reality buying nothing,as her sole purpose was to retail scandal and gossip, and keep herselffully informed of every trifling incident that happened. Indeed, shehad turned 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 grudgeever since. She was extremely well posted in the history of UncleGradelle and the Quenus, and knew them, she would say, by heart. Forthe last fortnight, however, Florent's arrival had greatly perplexedher, filled her, indeed, with a perfect fever of curiosity. She becamequite ill when she discovered any unforeseen gap in her information.And yet she could have sworn that she had seen that tall lanky fellowsomewhere or other before.She remained standing in front of the counter, examining the dishesone after 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 quitecold, and there was nothing left but one stray forgotten sausage."Look under the other cover, Mademoiselle Saget," said Lisa. "Ibelieve there'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 inthe evening. 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-tips onthe 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 for afew 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 herselfoff."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. Imust come another time."Lisa bent forward to watch her through the sausage-skins hanging inthe shop-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 keephis berth open for him in case he should recover."Verlaque, you know, won't last another six months," added Gavard,"and Florent will keep the place. It's a splendid idea, isn't it? Andit will be such a take-in for the police! The berth is under thePrefecture, you know. What glorious fun to see Florent getting paid bythe 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,and there 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 brightlyat everyone. Her face looked fresh and creamy, and on one side herhair was coming down, loosened by the wind which blew through themarkets. Gavard grasped her hands, while she with merry impudenceresumed: "I'll bet that you were talking about me just as I came in.Tell me what you were saying, uncle."However, Lisa now called to her, "Just look and tell me if this isthin enough."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, "CanI give 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'll have 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--thirty sous 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 alittle of her white bosom to appear. Before she went away she steppedup to Gavard again, and pretending to threaten him exclaimed: "So youwon't tell me what you were talking about as I came in? I could seeyou laughing from the street. Oh, you sly fellow! Ah! I sha'n't loveyou any longer!"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'tbe serious, I'm sure. I can understand that you are not in love withthe Government, but it would be too absurd to let your opinionsprevent you from earning your living. And, besides, my dear fellow,the Emperor isn't at all a bad sort of man. You don't suppose, do you,that he knew you were eating mouldy bread and tainted meat? He can'tbe everywhere, you know, and you can see for yourself that he hasn'tprevented us here from 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 isa scoundrelly 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 hiswife's sudden 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 shescrutinised the three men from head to foot, doubtless hoping todivine their secret by the manner in which they waited for her to go.She could see that she was putting them out, and the knowledge of thisrendered her yet more sour and angular, as she stood there in her limpskirts, with her long, spider-like arms bent and her knotted fingersclasped beneath her apron. Then, as she coughed slightly, Gavard, whomthe 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 bonesprotruded, and the dull fire burning in her eyes and scorching theirlids testified to some liver complaint nurtured by the querulousjealousy of her disposition. She turned round again towards thecounter, and watched each movement made by Lisa as she served her withthe distrustful glance of one who is convinced that an attempt will bemade 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 slices ofsausage. 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 tohave derived 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 asheet of 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" atthree francs the pound. Madame Lecoeur, however, continued to pry intothe dishes, trying to find something else to ask for. When the"assortment" was weighed she made Lisa add some jelly and gherkins toit. The block of jelly, shaped like a Savoy cake, shook on its whitechina dish beneath the angry violence of Lisa's hand; and as with herfinger-tips she took a couple of gherkins from a jar behind theheater, she made the vinegar 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,since they were hiding some trickery or other from her. However, Lisaat last put the parcel in her hands, and she was then obliged to makeher departure. She went away without saying a word, but darting asearching glance all round the shop."It was that Saget who sent her too!" burst out Lisa, as soon as theold woman was gone. "Is the old wretch going to send the whole markethere to try to find out what we talk about? What a prying, maliciousset they are! Did anyone ever hear before of crumbed cutlets and"assortments" being bought at five o'clock in the afternoon? But thenthey'd rack themselves with indigestion rather than not find out! Uponmy word, though, if La Saget sends anyone else here, you'll see thereception she'll get. I would bundle her out of the shop, even if shewere my own sister!"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 thecut-glass balusters detached from its wire fastening. Presently,however, he raised his head. "Well, for my part," he said, "I lookedupon it all as an 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 ofhis argument being that it was the Government which would look foolishin the 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 usnow! Well, so much the worse for La Normande; she shall pay for theothers!"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-looking beauty, with a delicate white skin, and was almost as plump asLisa, but there was more effrontery in her glance, and her bosomheaved with warmer life. She came into the shop with a light swingingstep, her gold chain jingling on her apron, her bare hair arranged inthe latest style, and a bow at her throat, a lace bow, which made herone of the most coquettish-looking queens of the markets. She broughta vague odour of fish with her, and a herring-scale showed like a tinypatch of mother-of-pearl near the little finger of one of her hands.She and Lisa having lived in the same house in the Rue Pirouette, wereintimate friends, linked by a touch of rivalry which kept each of thembusy with thoughts of the other. In the neighbourhood people spoke of"the beautiful Norman," just as they spoke of "beautiful Lisa." Thisbrought them into opposition and comparison, and compelled each ofthem to do her utmost to sustain her reputation for beauty. Lisa fromher counter could, by stooping a little, perceive the fish-girl amidsther salmon and turbot in the pavilion opposite; and each kept a watchon the other. Beautiful Lisa laced herself more tightly in her stays;and the beautiful Norman replied by placing additional rings on herfingers and additional bows on her shoulders. When they met they werevery bland and unctuous and profuse in compliments; but all the whiletheir eyes were furtively glancing from under their lowered lids, inthe hope of discovering some flaw. They made a point of always dealingwith each other, and professed great mutual affection."I say," said La Normande, with her smiling air, "it's to-morrowevening that you make your black-puddings, isn't it?"Lisa maintained a cold demeanour. She seldom showed any anger; butwhen she did it was tenacious, and slow to be appeased. "Yes," shereplied drily, 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:"I bought some black-pudding of you the day before yesterday, youknow, and it 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 the sightof 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, flushingscarlet.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 sharpteeth there 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,without making any allusion to what had just occurred, when the shopgirl, Augustine, returned from an errand on which she had been sent.Lisa thereupon took Gavard aside, and after telling him to say nothingfor the present to Monsieur Verlaque, promised that she wouldundertake to convince her brother-in-law in a couple of days' time atthe utmost. Quenu then returned to his kitchen, while Gavard tookFlorent off with him. And as they were just going into MonsieurLebigre's to drink a drop of vermouth together he called his attentionto three women standing in the covered way between the fish andpoultry pavilions."They're cackling together!" he said with an envious air.The markets were growing empty, and Mademoiselle Saget, MadameLecoeur, and La Sarriette alone lingered on the edge of the footway.The old maid was 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 justnow, 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 heavyblow, she continued: "I am alone in the world, and have no one to takemy part; he is quite at liberty to do as he pleases. His niece sideswith him too--you heard her just now. She has quite forgotten all thatshe cost me, and wouldn't stir a hand to help me.""Indeed, aunt," exclaimed La Sarriette, "you are quite wrong there!It's you 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 by allshe 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 quitefrightens me.""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 certainlyknows him. I must have met him myself somewhere before, but I can'tremember where."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 shedeserved, I can tell you! A nice den they keep, with their taintedpig meat which poisons 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-puddingto-morrow evening, and then she overwhelmed me with abuse. A dirtyhypocrite she is, with her saint-like airs! But she'll pay more dearlyfor this than she 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 cookeryat the Quenu's shop, and making the most extraordinary accusations. Ifthe Quenus had been detected selling human flesh the women could nothave displayed more violent and threatening anger. The fish-girl wasobliged to 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 sureabout those smug, sleek hypocrites."Mademoiselle Saget nodded her head as if to say that she was not veryfar from sharing La Normande's opinion. And she softly added:"Especially as this cousin has sprung from no one knows where; forit's a 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. "Hemust be costing her a pretty penny.""Yes, yes," muttered the old maid; "perhaps you are right. I mustreally get 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 isjust her way; and it scarcely becomes a creature like her to talk asshe did of Lisa."The three women looked at each other and smiled. Then, when MadameLecoeur also had gone off, La Sarriette remarked to MademoiselleSaget: "It is foolish of my aunt to worry herself so much about allthese affairs. It's that which makes her so thin. Ah! she'd havewillingly taken Gavard for a husband if she could only have got him.Yet she used to 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 thosethree cackling hussies were not worth a rope to hang them. She was,indeed, a little afraid that she might have been seen with them, andthe idea somewhat troubled her, for she realised that it would be badpolicy to fall out with the Quenu-Gradelles, who, after all, werewell-to-do folks and much esteemed. So she went a little out of herway on purpose to call at Taboureau the baker's in the Rue Turbigo--the finest baker's shop in the whole neighbourhood. Madame Taboureauwas not only an intimate friend of Lisa's, but an accepted authorityon every subject. When it was remarked that "Madame Taboureau had saidthis," or "Madame Taboureau had said that," there was no more to beurged. So the old maid, calling at the baker's under pretence ofinquiring at what time the oven would be hot, as she wished to bring adish of pears to be baked, took the opportunity to eulogise Lisa, andlavish praise upon the sweetness and excellence of her black-puddings.Then, well pleased at having prepared this moral alibi and delightedat having done what she could to fan the flames of a quarrel withoutinvolving herself in it, she briskly returned home, feeling mucheasier in her mind, but still striving to recall where she hadpreviously seen Madame Quenu's so-called cousin.That same evening, after dinner, Florent went out and strolled forsome time in one of the covered ways of the markets. A fine mist wasrising, and a grey sadness, which the gas lights studded as withyellow tears, hung over the deserted pavilions. For the first timeFlorent began to feel that he was in the way, and to recognise theunmannerly fashion in which he, thin and artless, had tumbled intothis world of fat people; and he frankly admitted to himself that hispresence was disturbing the whole neighbourhood, and that he was asource of discomfort to the Quenus--a spurious cousin of far toocompromising appearance. These reflections made him very sad; not,indeed, that the had noticed the slightest harshness on the part ofhis brother or Lisa: it was their very kindness, rather, that wastroubling him, and he accused himself of a lack of delicacy inquartering himself upon them. He was beginning to doubt the proprietyof his conduct. The recollection of the conversation in the shopduring the afternoon caused him a vague disquietude. The odour of theviands on Lisa's counter seemed to penetrate him; he felt himselfgliding into nerveless, satiated cowardice. Perhaps he had actedwrongly in refusing the inspectorship offered him. This reflectiongave birth to a stormy struggle in his mind, and he was obliged tobrace and shake himself before he could recover his wonted rigidity ofprinciples. However, a moist breeze had risen, and was blowing alongthe covered way, and he regained some degree of calmness andresolution on being obliged to button up his coat. The wind seeminglyswept from his clothes all the greasy odour of the pork shop, whichhad made him feel so languid.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 againas long as he lived. That very afternoon he had thrust his footthrough a study which he had been making of the head of that hussyCadine.Claude was subject to these outbursts, the fruit of his inability toexecute the lasting, living works which he dreamed of. And at suchtimes life became an utter blank to him, and he wandered about thestreets, wrapped in the gloomiest thoughts, and waiting for themorning as for a sort of resurrection. He used to say that he feltbright and cheerful in the morning, and horribly miserable in theevening.[*] Each of his days was a long effort ending indisappointment. Florent scarcely recognised in him the careless nightwanderer of the markets. They had already met again at the pork shop,and Claude, who knew the fugitive's story, had grasped his hand andtold him that he was a sterling fellow. It was very seldom, however,that the artist went to the Quenus'.[*] Claude Lantier's struggle for fame is fully described in M. Zola'snovel, L'Oeuvre ("His Masterpiece").--Translator."Are you still at my aunt's?" he asked. "I can't imagine how youmanage to exist amidst all that cookery. The places reeks with thesmell of meat. When I've been there for an hour I feel as though Ishouldn't want anything to eat for another three days. I ought not tohave gone there this morning; it was that which made me make a mess ofmy work."Then, after he and Florent had taken a few steps in silence, heresumed:"Ah! the good people! They quite grieve me with their fine health. Ihad thought of painting their portraits, but I've never been able tosucceed with such round faces, in which there is never a bone. Ah! Youwouldn't find my aunt Lisa kicking her foot through her pans! I was anidiot to have destroyed Cadine's head! Now that I come to think of it,it wasn't so very bad, perhaps, after all."Then they began to talk about Aunt Lisa. Claude said that hismother[*] had not seen anything of her for a long time, and he hintedthat the pork butcher's wife was somewhat ashamed of her sister havingmarried a common working man; moreover, she wasn't at all fond ofunfortunate folks. Speaking of himself, he told Florent that abenevolent gentleman had sent him to college, being very pleased withthe donkeys and old women that he had managed to draw when only eightyears old; but the good soul had died, leaving him an income of athousand francs, which just 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,scarcely get any sleep at nights. All those confounded pictures whichI can't finish go flying about my brain. I never get anything finishedand done with--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 stoneblocks used for killing the poultry. The two young vagabonds haddiscovered a means of hiding themselves and making themselves at homein the cellars after 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 thepork shop; 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 primcomfort of his surroundings. The matting beneath his feet seemed verysoft; 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 notionsof right and wrong. He still, however, had sufficient strength topersist in his refusal, and repeated his reasons; albeit conscious ofthe bad taste he was showing in thus ostentatiously parading hisanimosity and obstinacy in such a place. Lisa showed no signs ofvexation; on the contrary, she smiled, and the sweetness of her smileembarrassed Florent far more than her suppressed irritation of theprevious evening. At dinner the subject was not renewed; they talkedsolely of the great winter saltings, which would keep the whole staffof the establishment busily 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 solarge, too, that several people could sit comfortably at the squarecentral table, without in any way impeding the work that was going on.Lighted by gas, the walls were coated with white and blue tiles to aheight of some five or six feet from the floor. On the left was agreat iron stove, in the three apertures of which were set three largeround pots, their bottoms black with soot. At the end was a smallrange, which, fitted with an oven and a smoking-place, served for thebroiling; and up above, over the skimming-spoons, ladles, and long-handled forks, were several numbered drawers, containing rasped bread,both fine and coarse, toasted crumbs, spices, cloves, nutmegs, andpepper. On the right, leaning heavily against the wall, was thechopping-block, a huge mass of oak, slashed and scored all over.Attached to it were several appliances, an injecting pump, a forcing-machine, and a mechanical mincer, which, with their wheels and cranks,imparted to the place an uncanny and mysterious aspect, suggestingsome kitchen of the infernal regions.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 theblue and white tiles on the wall, glistened on the red tiles of theflooring, gave a greyish glitter to the stove, and polished the edgesof the chopping-block with the transparent sheen of varnished oak.And, indeed, amidst the ever-rising steam, the continuous evaporationfrom the three big pots, in which pork was boiling and melting, therewas not a single nail from ceiling to floor from which grease did notexude.The Quenu-Gradelles prepared nearly all their stock themselves. Allthat they procured from outside were the potted meats of celebratedfirms, with jars of pickles and preserves, sardines, cheese, andedible snails. They consequently became very busy after September infilling the cellars which had been emptied during the summer. Theycontinued working even after the shop had been closed for the night.Assisted by Auguste and Leon, Quenu would stuff sausages-skins,prepare hams, melt down lard, and salt the different sorts of bacon.There was a tremendous noise of cauldrons and cleavers, and the odourof cooking spread through the whole house. All this was quiteindependent of the daily business in fresh pork, pate de fois gras,hare patty, galantine, saveloys and black-puddings.That evening, at about eleven o'clock, Quenu, after placing a coupleof pots on the fire in order to melt down some lard, began to preparethe black-puddings. Auguste assisted him. At one corner of the squaretable Lisa and Augustine sat mending linen, whilst opposite to them,on the other side, with his face turned towards the fireplace, wasFlorent. Leon was mincing some sausage-meat on the oak block in aslow, rhythmical fashion.Auguste first of all went out into the yard to fetch a couple of jug-like cans full of pigs' blood. It was he who stuck the animals in theslaughter house. He himself would carry away the blood and interiorportions of the pigs, leaving the men who scalded the carcasses tobring them home completely dressed in their carts. Quenu asserted thatno assistant in all Paris was Auguste' equal as a pig-sticker. Thetruth was that Auguste was a wonderfully keen judge of the quality ofthe blood; and the black-pudding proved good every time that he saidsuch would 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,Madame Quenu; yes, I believe so. I tell it at first by the way theblood flows. If it spurts out very gently when I pull out the knife,that's a bad sign, and shows that the blood is poor.""But doesn't that depend on how far the knife has been stuck in?"asked Quenu.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. Butthe best 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 thecase, anyone can say without fear of mistake that the black-puddingswill be good."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 pailsof blood, had brightly gleaming nails, and looked very rosy above hiswhite sleeve. Quenu had nodded his head in approbation, and aninterval of silence followed. Leon was still mincing. Pauline,however, after remaining thoughtful for a little while, mounted uponFlorent's feet again, and in her clear voice exclaimed: "I say,cousin, tell me the story of the gentleman who was eaten by the wildbeasts!"It was probably the mention of the pig's blood which had aroused inthe child's mind the recollection of "the gentleman who had been eatenby the wild beasts." Florent did not at first understand what shereferred to, and asked her what gentleman she meant. Lisa began tosmile."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 takingthe big cat in her arms, placed it on his knees, saying that Moutonalso would like to hear the story. Mouton, however, leapt on to thetable, where, with rounded back, he remained contemplating the tall,scraggy individual who for the last fortnight had apparently affordedhim matter for deep reflection. Pauline meantime began to growimpatient, stamping her 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 onQuenu and Auguste, who were preparing the pot for the black-puddings.The gas was burning quietly, the stove diffused a gentle warmth, andall the grease of the kitchen glistened in an atmosphere of comfortsuch as attends good digestionThen, 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 statementsof several of the innocent victims whom the third Napoleontransported to Cayenne when wading through blood to the powerwhich 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 incoarse canvas, and feeding at their mess. Foul insects preyed on him,and terrible sweats robbed him of all his strength. The kitchen, thebakehouse, and the engine-room made the orlop deck so terribly hotthat ten of the convicts died from it. In the daytime they were sentup in batches of fifty to get a little fresh air from the sea; and asthe crew of the ship feared them, a couple of cannons were pointed atthe little bit of deck where they took exercise. The poor fellow wasvery glad indeed when his turn to go up came. His terribleperspiration then abated somewhat; still, he could not eat, and feltvery ill. During the night, when he was manacled again, and therolling of the ship in the rough sea kept knocking him against hiscompanions, he quite broke down, and began to cry, glad to be able todo 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 come tothe 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 awayand put 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 mycousin's poor man quite right if he cried all night long."Lisa resumed her sewing, bending over her work. Quenu had notlistened. He had been cutting some little rounds of onion over a potplaced on the fire; and almost at once the onions began to crackle,raising a clear shrill chirrup like that of grasshoppers basking inthe heat. They gave out a pleasant odour too, and when Quenu plungedhis great wooden spoon into the pot the chirruping became yet louder,and the whole kitchen was filled with the penetrating perfume of theonions. Auguste meantime was preparing some bacon fat in a dish, andLeon's chopper fell faster and faster, and every now and then scrapedthe block so as to gather together the sausage-meat, now almost apaste."When they got across the sea," Florent continued, "they took the manto an island called the Devil's Island,[*] where he found himselfamongst others who had been carried away from their own country. Theywere all very unhappy. At first they were kept to hard labour, justlike convicts. The gendarme who had charge of them counted them threetimes every day, so as to be sure that none were missing. Later on,they were left free to do as they liked, being merely locked up atnight in a big wooden hut, where they slept in hammocks stretchedbetween two bars. At the end of the year they went about barefooted,as their boots were quite worn out, and their clothes had become soragged that their flesh showed through them. They had built themselvessome huts with trunks of trees as a shelter against the sun, which isterribly hot in those parts; but these huts did not shield themagainst the mosquitoes, which covered them with pimples and swellingsduring the night. Many of them died, and the others turned quiteyellow, so shrunken and wretched, with their long, unkempt beards,that one could not behold them without pity."[*] The Ile du Diable. This spot was selected as the place ofdetention of Captain Dreyfus, the French officer convicted in 1894of 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 intothe pot, and then stirred them with his spoon. A yet denser steam nowrose from 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 toswallow it; but if it was boiled, it smelt so dreadfully that the menhad nausea and 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 uponthe square table in a dish. Mouton, who had remained seated with hiseyes fixed upon Florent, as though filled with amazement by his story,was obliged to retreat a few steps, which he did with a very badgrace. Then he rolled himself up, with his nose close to the sausage-meat, and began to purr.Lisa was unable to conceal her disgust and amazement. That foul rice,that evil-smelling meat, seemed to her to be scarcely credibleabominations, which disgraced those who had eaten them as much as itdid those who had provided them; and her calm, handsome face and roundneck quivered with vague fear of the man who had lived upon suchhorrid food."No, indeed, it was not a land of delights," Florent resumed,forgetting all about little Pauline, and fixing his dreamy eyes uponthe steaming pot. "Every day brought fresh annoyances--perpetualgrinding tyranny, the violation of every principle of justice,contempt for all human charity, which exasperated the prisoners, andslowly consumed them with a fever of sickly rancour. They lived likewild beasts, with the lash ceaselessly raised over their backs. Thosetorturers would have liked to kill the poor man-- Oh, no; it can neverbe forgotten; it is impossible! Such sufferings will some day claimvengeance."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 suddenlycome over his face; and, recollecting the gentle look which hehabitually wore, she judged him to be a hypocrite.Florent's hollow voice had brought Pauline's interest and delight tothe highest 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 hissad smile again."The man," he continued, "was weary of remaining on the island, andhad but one thought--that of making his escape by crossing the sea andreaching 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 lifein it had become yet more perilous and terrible. However, it occurredto the man and two of his companions to employ the timbers of whichtheir huts were built; and one evening they put out to sea on somerotten beams, which they had fastened together with dry branches. Thewind carried them towards the coast. Just as daylight was about toappear, the raft struck on a sandbank with such violence that thebeams were severed from their lashings and carried out to sea. Thethree poor fellows were almost engulfed in the sand. Two of them sankin it to their waists, while the third disappeared up to his chin, andhis companions were obliged to pull him out. At last they reached arock, so small that there was scarcely room for them to sit down uponit. When the sun rose they could see the coast in front of them, a barof grey cliffs stretching all along the horizon. Two, who knew how toswim, determined to reach those cliffs. They preferred to run the riskof being drowned at once to that of slowly starving on the rock. Butthey promised their companion that they would return for him when theyhad reached 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 Englishreader 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 horrifiedgrimace passed over the face of Leon, who was preparing the skins forthe black-puddings. Quenu stopped in the midst of his work and lookedat Auguste, who seemed to have turned faint. Only little Pauline wassmiling. 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 thestory.Auguste came up to him with the two cans, from which he slowly pouredthe blood, while Quenu, as it fell, vigorously stirred the nowthickening 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 oftheir oars, and the water swept so furiously into the boat that theirwhole time was taken up in baling it out with their hands. They tossedabout in this way in sight of the coast, carried away by squalls andthen brought back again by the tide, without a mouthful of bread toeat, for their scanty stock of provisions had been consumed. This wenton for three 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, shestammered out in confusion: "Oh! I wasn't laughing at that. It wasMouton. Do just look 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, hadprobably begun to feel distressed and disgusted by the presence of allthis food, for he had risen and was rapidly scratching the table withhis paws as though he wanted to bury the dish and its contents. Atlast, however, turning his back to it and lying down on his side, hestretched himself out, half closing his eyes and rubbing his headagainst the table with languid pleasure. Then they all began tocompliment Mouton. He never stole anything, they said, and could besafely left with the meat. Pauline related that he licked her fingersand washed her face after dinner 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 wasnot. "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 amere expression. They always get something to eat, more or less. It isonly the most abandoned wretches, people who are utterly lost----"She was doubtless going to add, "vagrant rogues," but she stoppedshort and looked at Florent. The scornful pout of her lips and theexpression of her bright eyes plainly signified that in her beliefonly villains made such prolonged fasts. It seemed to her that a manable to remain without food for three days must necessarily be a verydangerous character. For, indeed, honest folks never placed themselvesin such a position.Florent was now almost stifling. In front of him the stove, into whichLeon had just thrown several shovelfuls of coal, was snoring like alay clerk asleep in the sun; and the heat was very great. Auguste, whohad taken charge of the lard melting in the pots, was watching over itin a state of perspiration, and Quenu wiped his brow with his sleevewhilst waiting for the blood to mix. A drowsiness such as followsgross feeding, an atmosphere heavy with indigestion, pervaded thekitchen."When the man had buried his comrade in the sand," Florent continuedslowly, "he walked off alone straight in front of him. Dutch Guiana,in which country he now was, is a land of forests intermingled withrivers and swamps. The man walked on for more than a week withoutcoming across a single human dwelling-place. All around, death seemedto be lurking and lying in wait for him. Though his stomach was rackedby hunger, he often did not dare to eat the bright-coloured fruitswhich hung from the trees; he was afraid to touch the glitteringberries, fearing lest they should be poisonous. For whole days he didnot see a patch of sky, but tramped on beneath a canopy of branches,amidst a greenish gloom that swarmed with horrible living creatures.Great birds flew over his head with a terrible flapping of wings andsudden strange calls resembling death groans; apes sprang, wildanimals rushed through the thickets around him, bending the saplingsand bringing down a rain of leaves, as though a gale were passing. Butit was particularly the serpents that turned his blood cold when,stepping upon a matting of moving, withered leaves, he caught sight oftheir slim heads gliding amidst a horrid maze of roots. In certainnooks, nooks of dank shadow, swarming colonies of reptiles--someblack, some yellow, some purple, some striped, some spotted, and someresembling withered reeds--suddenly awakened into life and wriggledaway. At such times the man would stop and look about for a stone onwhich he might take refuge from the soft yielding ground into whichhis feet sank; and there he would remain for hours, terror-stricken onespying in some open space near by a boa, who, with tail coiled andhead erect, swayed like the trunk of a big tree splotched with gold."At night he used to sleep in the trees, alarmed by the slightestrustling of the branches, and fancying that he could hear endlessswarms of serpents gliding through the gloom. He almost stifledbeneath the interminable expanse of foliage. The gloomy shade reekedwith close, oppressive heat, a clammy dankness and pestilential sweat,impregnated with the coarse aroma of scented wood and malodorousflowers."And when at last, after a long weary tramp, the man made his way outof the forest and beheld the sky again, he found himself confronted bywide rivers which barred his way. He skirted their banks, keeping awatchful eye on the grey backs of the alligators and the masses ofdrifting vegetation, and then, when he came to a less suspicious-looking spot, he swam across. And beyond the rivers the forests beganagain. At other times there were vast prairie lands, leagues of thickvegetation, in which, at distant intervals, small lakes gleamedbluely. The man then made a wide detour, and sounded the groundbeneath him before advancing, having but narrowly escaped from beingswallowed up and buried beneath one of those smiling plains which hecould hear cracking at each step he took. The giant grass, nourishedby all the collected humus, concealed pestiferous marshes, depths ofliquid mud; and amongst the expanses of verdure spread over theglaucous immensity to the very horizon there were only narrowstretches of firm ground with which the traveller must be acquaintedif he would avoid disappearing for ever. One night the man sank downas far as his waist. At each effort he made to extricate himself themud threatened to rise to his mouth. Then he remained quite still fornearly a couple of hours; and when the moon rose he was fortunatelyable to catch hold of a branch of a tree above his head. By the timehe 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 masterof it 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 youshould look at, not me! There, hold it like that, and don't moveagain!"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, blackand steaming, flowed through the funnel, gradually inflating the skin,which fell down again, gorged to repletion and curving languidly. AsQuenu had removed the pot from the range both he and Leon stood outprominently, he broad visaged, and the lad slender of profile, in theburning glow which cast over their pale faces and white garments aflood of rosy light.Lisa and Augustine watched the filling of the skin with greatinterest, Lisa especially; and she in her turn found fault with Leonbecause he nipped the skin too tightly with his fingers, which causedknots to form, she said. When the skin was quite full, Quenu let itslip gently into a pot of boiling water; and seemed quite easy in hismind again, for now nothing remained but to leave it to boil."And the man--go on about the man!" murmured Pauline, opening hereyes, 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 severalmonths. Then he was released, and turned his hand to all sorts ofwork. He kept accounts and taught children to read, and at one time hewas even employed as a navvy in making an embankment. He wascontinually hoping to return to his own country. He had saved thenecessary amount of money when he was attacked by yellow fever. Then,believing him to be dead, those about him divided his clothes amongstthemselves; so that when he at last recovered he had not even a shirtleft. He had to begin all over again. The man was very weak, and wasafraid he might have to remain where he was. But at last he was ableto 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 onFlorent's shoulder. He held her with one arm, and still gently rockedher on his knee. No one seemed to pay any further attention to him, sohe remained still and quiet where he was, holding the sleeping child.Now came the tug of war, as Quenu said. He had to remove the black-puddings from the pot. In order to avoid breaking them or getting thementangled, he coiled them round a thick wooden pin as he drew themout, and then carried them into the yard and hung them on screens,where they quickly dried. Leon helped him, holding up the droopingends. And as these reeking festoons of black-pudding crossed thekitchen they left behind them a trail of odorous steam, which stillfurther thickened the dense 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,and each bursting bubble discharged an acrid vapour into the kitchen.The greasy 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 likedto fasten 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 waitany longer; he is too ill. So Florent must make up his mind. I havepromised to give a positive answer early to-morrow.""Well, Florent accepts," Lisa quietly remarked, taking another nibbleat some black-pudding.Florent, who had remained in his chair, overcome by a strange feelingof prostration, vainly endeavoured to rise and protest."No, no, say nothing," continued Lisa; "the matter is quite settled.You have suffered quite enough already, my dear Florent. What you havejust been telling us is enough to make one shudder. It is time now foryou to settle down. You belong to a respectable family, you received agood education, and it is really not fitting that you should gowandering about the highways like a vagrant. At your age childishnessis no longer excusable. You have been foolish; well, all that will beforgotten and forgiven. You will take your place again among those ofyour own class--the class of respectable folks--and live in futurelike other people."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.It was he, with his fleshless body and dark, equivocal-lookingcountenance, who must be in the wrong, and indulging in unrighteousdreams. He could, indeed, no longer understand why he had hithertoresisted.Lisa, however, continued to talk to him with an abundant flow ofwords, as though he were a little boy found in fault and threatenedwith the police. She assumed, indeed, a most maternal manner, andplied him with the most convincing reasons. And at last, as a finalargument, 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, totell you the truth, between ourselves, I'm afraid that people willbegin to talk. This inspectorship will set everything right; you willbe somebody; you will even be an honour to us."Her manner had become caressingly persuasive, and Florent waspenetrated by all the surrounding plenteousness, all the aroma fillingthe kitchen, where he fed, as it were, on the nourishment floating inthe atmosphere. He sank into blissful meanness, born of all thecopious feeding that went on in the sphere of plenty in which he hadbeen living during the last fortnight. He felt, as it were, thetitillation of forming fat which spread slowly all over his body. Heexperienced the languid beatitude of shopkeepers, whose chief concernis to fill their bellies. At this late hour of night, in the warmatmosphere of the kitchen, all his acerbity and determination meltedaway. That peaceable evening, with the odour of the black-pudding andthe lard, and the sight of plump little Pauline slumbering on hisknee, had so enervated him that he found himself wishing for asuccession of such evenings--endless ones which would make him fat.However, it was the sight of Mouton that chiefly decided him. Moutonwas sound asleep, with his stomach turned upwards, one of his pawsresting on his nose, and his tail twisted over this side, as though tokeep him warm; and he was slumbering with such an expression of felinehappiness that Florent, as he gazed at him, murmured: "No, it would betoo foolish! 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 hisdecision. It was always necessary for a man to settle down, said they;the breakneck 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 herhandsome face, placid like that of some sacred cow.
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