Chapter III

by Emile Zola

　　Three days later the necessary formalities were gone through, andwithout demur the police authorities at the Prefecture acceptedFlorent on Monsieur Verlaque's recommendation as his substitute.Gavard, by the way, had made it a point to accompany them. When heagain found himself alone with Florent he kept nudging his ribs withhis elbow as they walked along together, and laughed, without sayinganything, while winking his eyes in a jeering way. He seemed to findsomething very ridiculous in the appearance of the police officerswhom they met on the Quai de l'Horloge, for, as he passed them, heslightly shrugged his shoulders and made the grimace of a man seekingto restrain himself from laughing in people's faces.On the following morning Monsieur Verlaque began to initiate the newinspector into the duties of his office. It had been arranged thatduring the next few days he should make him acquainted with theturbulent sphere which he would have to supervise. Poor Verlaque, asGavard called him was a pale little man, swathed in flannels,handkerchiefs, and mufflers. Constantly coughing, he made his waythrough the cool, moist atmosphere, and running waters of the fishmarket, on a pair of scraggy legs like those of a sickly child.When Florent made his appearance on the first morning, at seveno'clock, he felt quite distracted; his eyes were dazed, his head achedwith all the noise and riot. Retail dealers were already prowlingabout the auction pavilion; clerks were arriving with their ledgers,and consigners' agents, with leather bags slung over their shoulders,sat on overturned chairs by the salesmen's desks, waiting to receivetheir cash. Fish was being unloaded and unpacked not only in theenclosure, but even on the footways. All along the latter were pilesof small baskets, an endless arrival of cases and hampers, and sacksof mussels, from which streamlets of water trickled. The auctioneers'assistants, all looking very busy, sprang over the heaps, tore awaythe straw at the tops of the baskets, emptied the latter, and tossedthem aside. They then speedily transferred their contents in lots tohuge wickerwork trays, arranging them with a turn of the hand so thatthey might show to the best advantage. And when the large tray-likebaskets were all set out, Florent could almost fancy that a wholeshoal of fish had got stranded there, still quivering with life, andgleaming with rosy nacre, scarlet coral, and milky pearl, all thesoft, pale, sheeny hues of the ocean.The deep-lying forests of seaweed, in which the mysterious life of theocean slumbers, seemed at one haul of the nets to have yielded up allthey contained. There were cod, keeling, whiting, flounders, plaice,dabs, and other sorts of common fish of a dingy grey with whitishsplotches; there were conger-eels, huge serpent-like creatures, withsmall black eyes and muddy, bluish skins, so slimy that they stillseemed to be gliding along, yet alive. There were broad flat skatewith pale undersides edged with a soft red, and superb backs bumpywith vertebrae, and marbled down to the tautly stretched ribs of theirfins with splotches of cinnabar, intersected by streaks of the tint ofFlorentine bronze--a dark medley of colour suggestive of the hues of atoad or some poisonous flower. Then, too, there were hideous dog-fish,with round heads, widely-gaping mouths like those of Chinese idols,and short fins like bats' wings; fit monsters to keep yelping guardover the treasures of the ocean grottoes. And next came the finerfish, displayed singly on the osier trays; salmon that gleamed likechased silver, every scale seemingly outlined by a graving-tool on apolished metal surface; mullet with larger scales and coarsermarkings; large turbot and huge brill with firm flesh white likecurdled milk; tunny-fish, smooth and glossy, like bags of blackishleather; and rounded bass, with widely gaping mouths which a soul toolarge for the body seemed to have rent asunder as it forced its wayout amidst the stupefaction of death. And on all sides there weresole, brown and grey, in pairs; sand-eels, slim and stiff, likeshavings of pewter; herrings, slightly twisted, with bleeding gillsshowing on their silver-worked skins; fat dories tinged with just asuspicion of carmine; burnished mackerel with green-streaked backs,and sides gleaming with ever-changing iridescence; and rosy gurnetswith white bellies, their head towards the centre of the baskets andtheir tails radiating all around, so that they simulated some strangeflorescence splotched with pearly white and brilliant vermilion. Therewere rock mullet, too, with delicious flesh, flushed with the pinkytinge peculiar to the Cyprinus family; boxes of whiting with opalinereflections; and baskets of smelts--neat little baskets, pretty asthose used for strawberries, and exhaling a strong scent of violets.And meantime the tiny black eyes of the shrimps dotted as with beadsof jet their soft-toned mass of pink and grey; and spiny crawfish andlobsters striped with black, all still alive, raised a grating soundas they tried to crawl along with their broken claws.Florent gave but indifferent attention to Monsieur Verlaque'sexplanations. A flood of sunshine suddenly streamed through the loftyglass roof of the covered way, lighting up all these precious colours,toned and softened by the waves--the iridescent flesh-tints of theshell-fish, the opal of the whiting, the pearly nacre of the mackerel,the ruddy gold of the mullets, the plated skins of the herrings, andmassive silver of the salmon. It was as though the jewel-cases of somesea-nymph had been emptied there--a mass of fantastical, undreamt-ofornaments, a streaming and heaping of necklaces, monstrous bracelets,gigantic brooches, barbaric gems and jewels, the use of which couldnot be divined. On the backs of the skate and the dog-fish you saw, asit were, big dull green and purple stones set in dark metal, while theslender forms of the sand-eels and the tails and fins of the smeltsdisplayed all the delicacy of finely wrought silver-work.And meantime Florent's face was fanned by a fresh breeze, a sharp,salt breeze redolent of the sea. It reminded him of the coasts ofGuiana and his voyages. He half fancied that he was gazing at some bayleft dry by the receding tide, with the seaweed steaming in the sun,the bare rocks drying, and the beach smelling strongly of the brine.All around him the fish in their perfect freshness exhaled a pleasantperfume, that slightly sharp, irritating perfume which depraves theappetite.Monsieur Verlaque coughed. The dampness was affecting him, and hewrapped his muffler more closely about his neck."Now," said he, "we will pass on to the fresh water fish."This was in a pavilion beside the fruit market, the last one, indeed,in the direction of the Rue Rambuteau. On either side of the spacereserved for the auctions were large circular stone basins, dividedinto separate compartments by iron gratings. Slender streams of waterflowed from brass jets shaped like swan's necks; and the compartmentswere filled with swarming colonies of crawfish, black-backed carp everon the move, and mazy tangles of eels, incessantly knotting andunknotting themselves. Again was Monsieur Verlaque attacked by anobstinate fit of coughing. The moisture of the atmosphere was moreinsipid here than amongst the sea water fish: there was a riversidescent, as of sun-warmed water slumbering on a bed of sand.A great number of crawfishes had arrived from Germany that morning incases and hampers, and the market was also crowded with river fishfrom Holland and England. Several men were unpacking shiny carp fromthe Rhine, lustrous with ruddy metallic hues, their scales resemblingbronzed cloisonne enamel; and others were busy with huge pike, thecruel iron-grey brigands of the waters, who ravenously protruded theirsavage jaws; or with magnificent dark-hued with verdigris. And amidstthese suggestions of copper, iron, and bronze, the gudgeon and perch,the trout, the bleak, and the flat-fish taken in sweep-nets showedbrightly white, the steel-blue tints of their backs gradually toningdown to the soft transparency of their bellies. However, it was thefat snowy-white barbel that supplied the liveliest brightness in thisgigantic collection of still life.Bags of young carp were being gently emptied into the basins. The fishspun round, then remained motionless for a moment, and at last shotaway and disappeared. Little eels were turned out of their hampers ina mass, and fell to the bottom of the compartments like tangled knotsof snakes; while the larger ones--those whose bodies were about asthick as a child's arm--raised their heads and slipped of their ownaccord into the water with the supple motion of serpents gliding intothe concealment of a thicket. And meantime the other fish, whose deathagony had been lasting all the morning as they lay on the soiledosiers of the basket-trays, slowly expired amidst all the uproar ofthe auctions, opening their mouths as though to inhale the moisture ofthe air, with great silent gasps, renewed every few seconds.However, Monsieur Verlaque brought Florent back to the salt waterfish. He took him all over the place and gave him the minutestparticulars about everything. Round the nine salesmen's desks rangedalong three sides of the pavilion there was now a dense crowd ofsurging, swaying heads, above which appeared the clerks, perched uponhigh chairs and making entries in their ledgers."Are all these clerks employed by the salesmen?" asked Florent.By way of reply Monsieur Verlaque made a detour along the outsidefootway, led him into the enclosure of one of the auctions, and thenexplained the working of the various departments of the big yellowoffice, which smelt strongly of fish and was stained all over bydrippings and splashings from the hampers. In a little glazedcompartment up above, the collector of the municipal dues took note ofthe prices realised by the different lots of fish. Lower down, seatedupon high chairs and with their wrists resting upon little desks, weretwo female clerks, who kept account of the business on behalf of thesalesmen. At each end of the stone table in front of the office was acrier who brought the basket-trays forward in turn, and in a bawlingvoice announced what each lot consisted of; while above him the femaleclerk, pen in hand, waited to register the price at which the lotswere knocked down. And outside the enclosure, shut up in anotherlittle office of yellow wood, Monsieur Verlaque showed Florent thecashier, a fat old woman, who was ranging coppers and five-francpierces in piles."There is a double control, you see," said Monsieur Verlaque; "thecontrol of the Prefecture of the Seine and that of the Prefecture ofPolice. The latter, which licenses the salesmen, claims to have theright of supervision over them; and the municipality asserts its rightto be represented at the transactions as they are subject totaxation."He went on expatiating at length in his faint cold voice respectingthe rival claims of the two Prefectures. Florent, however, was payingbut little heed, his attention being concentrated on a female clerksitting on one of the high chairs just in front of him. She was atall, dark woman of thirty, with big black eyes and an easy calmnessof manner, and she wrote with outstretched fingers like a girl who hadbeen taught the regulation method of the art.However, Florent's attention was diverted by the yelping of the crier,who was just offering a magnificent turbot for sale."I've a bid of thirty francs! Thirty francs, now; thirty francs!"He repeated these words in all sorts of keys, running up and down astrange scale of notes full of sudden changes. Humpbacked and withhis face twisted askew, and his hair rough and disorderly, he wore agreat blue apron with a bib; and with flaming eyes and outstretchedarms he cried vociferously: "Thirty-one! thirty-two! thirty-three!Thirty-three francs fifty centimes! thirty-three fifty!"Then he paused to take breath, turning the basket-tray and pushing itfarther upon the table. The fish-wives bent forward and gently touchedthe turbot with their finger-tips. Then the crier began again withrenewed energy, hurling his figures towards the buyers with a wave ofthe hand and catching the slightest indication of a fresh bid--theraising of a finger, a twist of the eyebrows, a pouting of the lips, awink, and all with such rapidity and such a ceaseless jumble of wordsthat Florent, utterly unable to follow him, felt quite disconcertedwhen, in a sing-song voice like that of a priest intoning the finalwords of a versicle, he chanted: "Forty-two! forty-two! The turbotgoes for forty-two francs."It was the beautiful Norman who had made the last bid. Florentrecognised her as she stood in the line of fish-wives crowding againstthe iron rails which surrounded the enclosure. The morning was freshand sharp, and there was a row of tippets above the display of bigwhite aprons, covering the prominent bosoms and stomachs and sturdyshoulders. With high-set chignon set off with curls, and white anddainty skin, the beautiful Norman flaunted her lace bow amidst tangledshocks of hair covered with dirty kerchiefs, red noses eloquent ofdrink, sneering mouths, and battered faces suggestive of old pots. Andshe also recognised Madame Quenu's cousin, and was so surprised to seehim there that she began gossiping to her neighbours about him.The uproar of voices had become so great that Monsieur Verlaquerenounced all further attempt to explain matters to Florent. On thefootway close by, men were calling out the larger fish with prolongedshouts, which sounded as though they came from gigantic speaking-trumpets; and there was one individual who roared "Mussels! Mussels!"in such a hoarse, cracked, clamorous voice that the very roofs of themarket shook. Some sacks of mussels were turned upside down, and theircontents poured into hampers, while others were emptied with shovels.And there was a ceaseless procession of basket-trays containing skate,soles, mackerel, conger-eels, and salmon, carried backwards andforwards amidst the ever-increasing cackle and pushing of the fish-women as they crowded against the iron rails which creaked with theirpressure. The humpbacked crier, now fairly on the job, waved hisskinny arms in the air and protruded his jaws. Presently, seeminglylashed into a state of frenzy by the flood of figures that spurtedfrom his lips, he sprang upon a stool, where, with his mouth twistedspasmodically and his hair streaming behind him, he could forcenothing more than unintelligible hisses from his parched throat. Andin the meantime, up above, the collector of municipal dues, a littleold man, muffled in a collar of imitation astrachan, remained withnothing but his nose showing under his black velvet skullcap. And thetall, dark-complexioned female clerk, with eyes shining calmly in herface, which had been slightly reddened by the cold, sat on her highwooden chair, quietly writing, apparently unruffled by the continuousrattle which came from the hunchback below her."That fellow Logre is wonderful," muttered Monsieur Verlaque with asmile. "He is the best crier in the markets. I believe he could makepeople buy boot soles in the belief they were fish!"Then he and Florent went back into the pavilion. As they again passedthe spot where the fresh water fish was being sold by auction, andwhere the bidding seemed much quieter, Monsieur Verlaque explainedthat French river fishing was in a bad way.[*] The crier here, a fair,sorry-looking fellow, who scarcely moved his arms, was disposing ofsome lots of eels and crawfish in a monotonous voice, while theassistants fished fresh supplies out of the stone basins with theirshort-handled nets.[*] M. Zola refers, of course, to the earlier years of the SecondEmpire. Under the present republican Government, which has largelyfostered fish culture, matters have considerably improved.--Translator.However, the crowd round the salesmen's desks was still increasing.Monsieur Verlaque played his part as Florent's instructor in the mostconscientious manner, clearing the way by means of his elbows, andguiding his successor through the busiest parts. The upper-classretail dealers were there, quietly waiting for some of the finer fish,or loading the porters with their purchases of turbot, tunny, andsalmon. The street-hawkers who had clubbed together to buy lots ofherrings and small flat-fish were dividing them on the pavement. Therewere also some people of the smaller middle class, from distant partsof the city, who had come down at four o'clock in the morning to buy areally fresh fish, and had ended by allowing some enormous lot,costing from forty to fifty francs, to be knocked down to them, withthe result that they would be obliged to spend the whole day ingetting their friends and acquaintances to take the surplus off theirhands. Every now and then some violent pushing would force a gapthrough part of the crowd. A fish-wife, who had got tightly jammed,freed herself, shaking her fists and pouring out a torrent of abuse.Then a compact mass of people again collected, and Florent, almostsuffocated, declared that he had seen quite enough, and understood allthat was necessary.As Monsieur Verlaque was helping him to extricate himself from thecrowd, they found themselves face to face with the handsome Norman.She remained stock-still in front of them, and with her queenly airinquired:"Well, is it quite settled? You are going to desert us, MonsieurVerlaque?""Yes, yes," replied the little man; "I am going to take a rest in thecountry, at Clamart. The smell of the fish is bad for me, it seems.Here, this is the gentleman who is going to take my place."So speaking he turned round to introduce Florent to her. The handsomeNorman almost choked; however, as Florent went off, he fancied hecould hear her whisper to her neighbours, with a laugh: "Well, weshall have some fine fun now, see if we don't!"The fish-wives had begun to set out their stalls. From all the taps atthe corners of the marble slabs water was gushing freely; and therewas a rustling sound all round, like the plashing of rain, a streamingof stiff jets of water hissing and spurting. And then, from the lowerside of the sloping slabs, great drops fell with a softened murmur,splashing on the flagstones where a mass of tiny streams flowed alonghere and there, turning holes and depressions into miniature lakes,and afterwards gliding in a thousand rills down the slope towards theRue Rambuteau. A moist haze ascended, a sort of rainy dust, bringingfresh whiffs of air to Florent's face, whiffs of that salt, pungentsea breeze which he remembered so well; while in such fish as wasalready laid out he once more beheld the rosy nacres, gleaming corals,and milky pearls, all the rippling colour and glaucous pallidity ofthe ocean world.That first morning left him much in doubt; indeed, he regretted thathe had yielded to Lisa's insistence. Ever since his escape from thegreasy drowsiness of the kitchen he had been accusing himself of baseweakness with such violence that tears had almost risen in his eyes.But he did not dare to go back on his word. He was a little afraid ofLisa, and could see the curl of her lips and the look of mute reproachupon her handsome face. He felt that she was too serious a woman to betrifled with. However, Gavard happily inspired him with a consolingthought. On the evening of the day on which Monsieur Verlaque hadconducted him through the auction sales, Gavard took him aside andtold him, with a good deal of hesitation, that "the poor devil" wasnot at all well off. And after various remarks about the scoundrellyGovernment which ground the life out of its servants without allowingthem even the means to die in comfort, he ended by hinting that itwould be charitable on Florent's part to surrender a part of hissalary to the old inspector. Florent welcomed the suggestion withdelight. It was only right, he considered, for he looked upon himselfsimply as Monsieur Verlaque's temporary substitute; and besides, hehimself really required nothing, as he boarded and lodged with hisbrother. Gavard added that he thought if Florent gave up fifty francsout of the hundred and fifty which he would receive monthly, thearrangement would be everything that could be desired; and, loweringhis voice, he added that it would not be for long, for the poor fellowwas consumptive to his very bones. Finally it was settled that Florentshould see Monsieur Verlaque's wife, and arrange matters with her, toavoid any possibility of hurting the old man's feelings.The thought of this kindly action afforded Florent great relief, andhe now accepted his duties with the object of doing good, thuscontinuing to play the part which he had been fulfilling all his life.However, he made the poultry dealer promise that he would not speak ofthe matter to anyone; and as Gavard also felt a vague fear of Lisa, hekept the secret, which was really very meritorious in him.And now the whole pork shop seemed happy. Handsome Lisa manifested thegreatest friendliness towards her brother-in-law. She took care thathe went to bed early, so as to be able to rise in good time; she kepthis breakfast hot for him; and she no longer felt ashamed at beingseen talking to him on the footway, now that he wore a laced cap.Quenu, quite delighted by all these good signs, sat down to table inthe evening between his wife and brother with a lighter heart thanever. They often lingered over dinner till nine o'clock, leaving theshop in Augustine's charge, and indulging in a leisurely digestioninterspersed with gossip about the neighbourhood, and the dogmaticopinions of Lisa on political topics; Florent also had to relate howmatters had gone in the fish market that day. He gradually grew lessfrigid, and began to taste the happiness of a well-regulatedexistence. There was a well-to-do comfort and trimness about the lightyellowish dining room which had a softening influence upon him as soonas he crossed its threshold. Handsome Lisa's kindly attentions wrappedhim, as it were, in cotton-wool; and mutual esteem and concord reignedparamount.Gavard, however, considered the Quenu-Gradelles' home to be toodrowsy. He forgave Lisa her weakness for the Emperor, because, hesaid, one ought never to discuss politics with women, and beautifulMadame Quenu was, after all, a very worthy person, who managed herbusiness admirably. Nevertheless, he much preferred to spend hisevenings at Monsieur Lebigre's, where he met a group of friends whoshared his own opinions. Thus when Florent was appointed to theinspectorship of the fish market, Gavard began to lead him astray,taking him off for hours, and prompting him to lead a bachelor's lifenow that he had obtained a berth.Monsieur Lebigre was the proprietor of a very fine establishment,fitted up in the modern luxurious style. Occupying the right-handcorner of the Rue Pirouette, and looking on to the Rue Rambuteau, itformed, with its four small Norwegian pines in green-painted tubsflanking the doorway, a worthy pendant to the big pork shop of theQuenu-Gradelles. Through the clear glass windows you could see theinterior, which was decorated with festoons of foliage, vine branches,and grapes, painted on a soft green ground. The floor was tiled withlarge black and white squares. At the far end was the yawning cellarentrance, above which rose a spiral staircase hung with red drapery,and leading to the billiard-room on the first floor. The counter or"bar" on the right looked especially rich, and glittered like polishedsilver. Its zinc-work, hanging with a broad bulging border over thesub-structure of white and red marble, edged it with a rippling sheetof metal as if it were some high altar laden with embroidery. At oneend, over a gas stove, stood porcelain pots, decorated with circles ofbrass, and containing punch and hot wine. At the other extremity was atall and richly sculptured marble fountain, from which a fine streamof water, so steady and continuous that it looked as though it weremotionless, flowed into a basin. In the centre, edged on three sidesby the sloping zinc surface of the counter, was a second basin forrinsing and cooling purposes, where quart bottles of draught wine,partially empty, reared their greenish necks. Then on the counter, tothe right and left of this central basin, were batches of glassessymmetrically arranged: little glasses for brandy, thick tumblers fordraught wine, cup glasses for brandied fruits, glasses for absinthe,glass mugs for beer, and tall goblets, all turned upside down andreflecting the glitter of the counter. On the left, moreover, was ametal urn, serving as a receptacle for gratuities; whilst a similarone on the right bristled with a fan-like arrangement of coffeespoons.Monsieur Lebigre was generally to be found enthroned behind hiscounter upon a seat covered with buttoned crimson leather. Within easyreach of his hand were the liqueurs in cut-glass decanters protrudingfrom the compartments of a stand. His round back rested against a hugemirror which completely filled the panel behind him; across it ran twoglass shelves supporting an array of jars and bottles. Upon one ofthem the glass jars of preserved fruits, cherries, plums, and peaches,stood out darkly; while on the other, between symmetrically arrangedpackets of finger biscuits, were bright flasks of soft green and redand yellow glass, suggesting strange mysterious liqueurs, or floralextracts of exquisite limpidity. Standing on the glass shelf in thewhite glow of the mirror, these flasks, flashing as if on fire, seemedto be suspended in the air.To give his premises the appearance of a cafe, Monsieur Lebigre hadplaced two small tables of bronzed iron and four chairs against thewall, in front of the counter. A chandelier with five lights andfrosted globes hung down from the ceiling. On the left was a roundgilt timepiece, above a tourniquet[*] fixed to the wall. Then at thefar end came the private "cabinet," a corner of the shop shut off by apartition glazed with frosted glass of a small square pattern. In thedaytime this little room received a dim light from a window thatlooked on to the Rue Pirouette; and in the evening, a gas jet burntover the two tables painted to resemble marble. It was there thatGavard and his political friends met each evening after dinner. Theylooked upon themselves as being quite at home there, and had prevailedon the landlord to reserve the place for them. When Monsieur Lebigrehad closed the door of the glazed partition, they knew themselves tobe so safely screened from intrusion that they spoke quiteunreservedly of the great "sweep out" which they were fond ofdiscussing. No unprivileged customer would have dared to enter.[*] This is a kind of dial turning on a pivot, and usually enclosed ina brass frame, from which radiate a few small handles or spokes.Round the face of the dial--usually of paper--are variousnumerals, and between the face and its glass covering is a smallmarble or wooden ball. The appliance is used in lieu of dice orcoins when two or more customers are "tossing" for drinks. Each inturn sends the dial spinning round, and wins or loses according tothe numeral against which the ball rests when the dial stops. As Ican find no English name for the appliance, I have thought it bestto describe it.--Translator.On the first day that Gavard took Florent off he gave him someparticulars of Monsieur Lebigre. He was a good fellow, he said, whosometimes came to drink his coffee with them; and, as he had said oneday that he had fought in '48, no one felt the least constraint in hispresence. He spoke but little, and seemed rather thick-headed. As thegentlemen passed him on their way to the private room they grasped hishand in silence across the glasses and bottles. By his side on thecrimson leather seat behind the counter there was generally a fairlittle woman, whom he had engaged as counter assistant in addition tothe white-aproned waiter who attended to the tables and the billiard-room. The young woman's name was Rose, and she seemed a very gentleand submissive being. Gavard, with a wink of his eye, told Florentthat he fancied Lebigre had a weakness for her. It was she, by theway, who waited upon the friends in the private room, coming andgoing, with her happy, humble air, amidst the stormiest politicaldiscussions.Upon the day on which the poultry dealer took Florent to Lebigre's topresent him to his friends, the only person whom the pair found in thelittle room when they entered it was a man of some fifty years of age,of a mild and thoughtful appearance. He wore a rather shabby-lookinghat and a long chestnut-coloured overcoat, and sat, with his chinresting on the ivory knob of a thick cane, in front of a glass mugfull of beer. His mouth was so completely concealed by a vigorousgrowth of beard that his face had a dumb, lipless appearance."How are you, Robine?" exclaimed Gavard.Robine silently thrust out his hand, without making any reply, thoughhis eyes softened into a slight smile of welcome. Then he let his chindrop on to the knob of his cane again, and looked at Florent over hisbeer. Florent had made Gavard swear to keep his story a secret forfear of some dangerous indiscretion; and he was not displeased toobserve a touch of distrust in the discreet demeanour of the gentlemanwith the heavy beard. However, he was really mistaken in this, forRobine never talked more than he did now. He was always the first toarrive, just as the clock struck eight; and he always sat in the samecorner, never letting go his hold of his cane, and never taking offeither his hat or his overcoat. No one had ever seen him without hishat upon his head. He remained there listening to the talk of theothers till midnight, taking four hours to empty his mug of beer, andgazing successively at the different speakers as though he heard themwith his eyes. When Florent afterwards questioned Gavard about Robine,the poultry dealer spoke of the latter as though he held him in highesteem. Robine, he asserted, was an extremely clever and able man,and, though he was unable to say exactly where he had given proof ofhis hostility to the established order of things, he declared that hewas one of the most dreaded of the Government's opponents. He lived inthe Rue Saint Denis, in rooms to which no one as a rule could gainadmission. The poultry dealer, however, asserted that he himself hadonce been in them. The wax floors, he said, were protected by stripsof green linen; and there were covers over the furniture, and analabaster timepiece with columns. He had caught a glimpse of the backof a lady, who was just disappearing through one doorway as he wasentering by another, and had taken her to be Madame Robine. Sheappeared to be an old lady of very genteel appearance, with her hairarranged in corkscrew curls; but of this he could not be quitecertain. No one knew why they had taken up their abode amidst all theuproar of a business neighbourhood; for the husband did nothing atall, spending his days no one knew how and living on no one knew what,though he made his appearance every evening as though he were tiredbut delighted with some excursion into the highest regions ofpolitics."Well, have you read the speech from the throne?" asked Gavard, takingup a newspaper that was lying on the table.Robine shrugged his shoulders. Just at that moment, however, the doorof the glazed partition clattered noisily, and a hunchback made hisappearance. Florent at once recognised the deformed crier of the fishmarket, though his hands were now washed and he was neatly dressed,with his neck encircled by a great red muffler, one end of which hungdown over his hump like the skirt of a Venetian cloak."Ah, here's Logre!" exclaimed the poultry dealer. "Now we shall hearwhat he thinks about the speech from the throne."Logre, however, was apparently furious. To begin with he almost brokethe pegs off in hanging up his hat and muffler. Then he threw himselfviolently into a chair, and brought his fist down on the table, whiletossing away the newspaper."Do you think I read their fearful lies?" he cried.Then he gave vent to the anger raging within him. "Did ever anyonehear," he cried, "of masters making such fools of their people? Fortwo whole hours I've been waiting for my pay! There were ten of us inthe office kicking our heels there. Then at last Monsieur Manouryarrived in a cab. Where he had come from I don't know, and don't care,but I'm quite sure it wasn't any respectable place. Those salesmen areall a parcel of thieves and libertines! And then, too, the hogactually gave me all my money in small change!"Robine expressed his sympathy with Logre by the slight movement of hiseyelids. But suddenly the hunchback bethought him of a victim uponwhom to pour out his wrath. "Rose! Rose!" he cried, stretching hishead out of the little room.The young woman quickly responded to the call, trembling all over."Well," shouted Logre, "what do you stand staring at me like that for?Much good that'll do! You saw me come in, didn't you? Why haven't youbrought me my glass of black coffee, then?"Gavard ordered two similar glasses, and Rose made all haste to bringwhat was required, while Logre glared sternly at the glasses andlittle sugar trays as if studying them. When he had taken a drink heseemed to grow somewhat calmer."But it's Charvet who must be getting bored," he said presently. "Heis waiting outside on the pavement for Clemence."Charvet, however, now made his appearance, followed by Clemence. Hewas a tall, scraggy young man, carefully shaved, with a skinny noseand thin lips. He lived in the Rue Vavin, behind the Luxembourg, andcalled himself a professor. In politics he was a disciple ofHebert.[*] He wore his hair very long, and the collar and lapels ofhis threadbare frock-coat were broadly turned back. Affecting themanner and speech of a member of the National Convention, he wouldpour out such a flood of bitter words and make such a haughty displayof pedantic learning that he generally crushed his adversaries. Gavardwas afraid of him, though he would not confess it; still, in Charvet'sabsence he would say that he really went too far. Robine, for hispart, expressed approval of everything with his eyes. Logre sometimesopposed Charvet on the question of salaries; but the other was reallythe autocrat of the coterie, having the greatest fund of informationand the most overbearing manner. For more than ten years he andClemence had lived together as man and wife, in accordance with apreviously arranged contract, the terms of which were strictlyobserved by both parties to it. Florent looked at the young woman withsome little surprise, but at last he recollected where he hadpreviously seen her. This was at the fish auction. She was, indeed,none other than the tall dark female clerk whom he had observedwriting with outstretched fingers, after the manner of one who hadbeen carefully instructed in the art of holding a pen.[*] Hebert, as the reader will remember, was the furious demagoguewith the foul tongue and poisoned pen who edited the PereDuchesne at the time of the first French Revolution. We had arevival of his politics and his journal in Paris during theCommune of 1871.--Translator.Rose made her appearance at the heels of the two newcomers. Withoutsaying a word she placed a mug of beer before Charvet and a traybefore Clemence, who in a leisurely way began to compound a glass of"grog," pouring some hot water over a slice of lemon, which shecrushed with her spoon, and glancing carefully at the decanter as shepoured out some rum, so as not to add more of it than a small liqueurglass could contain.Gavard now presented Florent to the company, but more especially toCharvet. He introduced them to one another as professors, and veryable men, who would be sure to get on well together. But it wasprobable that he had already been guilty of some indiscretion, for allthe men at once shook hands with a tight and somewhat masonic squeezeof each other's fingers. Charvet, for his part, showed himself almostamiable; and whether he and the others knew anything of Florent'santecedents, they at all events indulged in no embarrassing allusions."Did Manoury pay you in small change?" Logre asked Clemence.She answered affirmatively, and produced a roll of francs and anotherof two-franc pieces, and unwrapped them. Charvet watched her, and hiseyes followed the rolls as she replaced them in her pocket, aftercounting their contents and satisfying herself that they were correct."We have our accounts to settle," he said in a low voice."Yes, we'll settle up to-night," the young woman replied. "But we areabout even, I should think. I've breakfasted with you four times,haven't I? But I lent you a hundred sous last week, you know."Florent, surprised at hearing this, discreetly turned his head away.Then Clemence slipped the last roll of silver into her pocket, drank alittle of her grog, and, leaning against the glazed partition, quietlysettled herself down to listen to the men talking politics. Gavard hadtaken up the newspaper again, and, in tones which he strove to rendercomic, was reading out some passages of the speech from the thronewhich had been delivered that morning at the opening of the Chambers.Charvet made fine sport of the official phraseology; there was not asingle line of it which he did not tear to pieces. One sentenceafforded especial amusement to them all. It was this: "We areconfident, gentlemen, that, leaning on your lights[*] and theconservative sentiments of the country, we shall succeed in increasingthe national prosperity day by day."[*] In the sense of illumination of mind. It has been necessary togive a literal translation of this phrase to enable the reader torealise the point of subsequent witticisms in which Clemence andGavard indulge.--Translator.Logre rose up and repeated this sentence, and by speaking through hisnose succeeded fairly well in mimicking the Emperor's drawling voice."It's lovely, that prosperity of his; why, everyone's dying ofhunger!" said Charvet."Trade is shocking," asserted Gavard."And what in the name of goodness is the meaning of anybody 'leaningon lights'?" continued Clemence, who prided herself upon literaryculture.Robine himself even allowed a faint laugh to escape from the depths ofhis beard. The discussion began to grow warm. The party fell foul ofthe Corps Legislatif, and spoke of it with great severity. Logre didnot cease ranting, and Florent found him the same as when he cried thefish at the auctions--protruding his jaws and hurling his wordsforward with a wave of the arm, whilst retaining the crouchingattitude of a snarling dog. Indeed, he talked politics in just thesame furious manner as he offered a tray full of soles for sale.Charvet, on the other hand, became quieter and colder amidst the smokeof the pipes and the fumes of the gas which were now filling thelittle den; and his voice assumed a dry incisive tone, sharp like aguillotine blade, while Robine gently wagged his head without onceremoving his chin from the ivory knob of his cane. However, someremark of Gavard's led the conversation to the subject of women."Woman," declared Charvet drily, "is the equal of man; and, that beingso, she ought not to inconvenience him in the management of his life.Marriage is a partnership, in which everything should be halved. Isn'tthat so, Clemence?""Clearly so," replied the young woman, leaning back with her headagainst the wall and gazing into the air.However, Florent now saw Lacaille, the costermonger, and Alexandre,the porter, Claude Lantier's friend, come into the little room. In thepast these two had long remained at the other table in the sanctum;they did not belong to the same class as the others. By the help ofpolitics, however, their chairs had drawn nearer, and they had endedby forming part of the circle. Charvet, in whose eyes they represented"the people," did his best to indoctrinate them with his advancedpolitical theories, while Gavard played the part of the shopkeeperfree from all social prejudices by clinking glasses with them.Alexandre was a cheerful, good-humoured giant, with the manner of abig merry lad. Lacaille, on the other hand, was embittered; his hairwas already grizzling; and, bent and wearied by his ceaselessperambulations through the streets of Paris, he would at times glanceloweringly at the placid figure of Robine, and his sound boots andheavy coat.That evening both Lacaille and Alexandre called for a liqueur glass ofbrandy, and then the conversation was renewed with increased warmthand excitement, the party being now quite complete. A little later,while the door of the cabinet was left ajar, Florent caught sight ofMademoiselle Saget standing in front of the counter. She had taken abottle from under her apron, and was watching Rose as the latterpoured into it a large measureful of black-currant syrup and a smallerone of brandy. Then the bottle disappeared under the apron again, andMademoiselle Saget, with her hands out of sight, remained talking inthe bright glow of the counter, face to face with the big mirror, inwhich the flasks and bottles of liqueurs were reflected like rows ofVenetian lanterns. In the evening all the metal and glass of theestablishment helped to illuminate it with wonderful brilliancy. Theold maid, standing there in her black skirts, looked almost like somebig strange insect amidst all the crude brightness. Florent noticedthat she was trying to inveigle Rose into a conversation, and shrewdlysuspected that she had caught sight of him through the half opendoorway. Since he had been on duty at the markets he had met her atalmost every step, loitering in one or another of the covered ways,and generally in the company of Madame Lecoeur and La Sarriette. Hehad noticed also that the three women stealthily examined him, andseemed lost in amazement at seeing him installed in the position ofinspector. That evening, however, Rose was no doubt loath to enterinto conversation with the old maid, for the latter at last turnedround, apparently with the intention of approaching Monsieur Lebigre,who was playing piquet with a customer at one of the bronzed tables.Creeping quietly along, Mademoiselle Saget had at last managed toinstall herself beside the partition of the cabinet, when she wasobserved by Gavard, who detested her."Shut the door, Florent!" he cried unceremoniously. "We can't even beby ourselves, it seems!"When midnight came and Lacaille went away he exchanged a few whisperedwords with Monsieur Lebigre, and as the latter shook hands with him heslipped four five-franc pieces into his palm, without anyone noticingit. "That'll make twenty-two francs that you'll have to pay to-morrow,remember," he whispered in his ear. "The person who lends the moneywon't do it for less in future. Don't forget, too, that you owe threedays' truck hire. You must pay everything off."Then Monsieur Lebigre wished the friends good night. He was verysleepy and should sleep well, he said, with a yawn which revealed hisbig teeth, while Rose gazed at him with an air of submissive humility.However, he gave her a push, and told her to go and turn out the gasin the little room.On reaching the pavement, Gavard stumbled and nearly fell. And beingin a humorous vein, he thereupon exclaimed: "Confound it all! At anyrate, I don't seem to be leaning on anybody's lights."This remark seemed to amuse the others, and the party broke up. Alittle later Florent returned to Lebigre's, and indeed he became quiteattached to the "cabinet," finding a seductive charm in Robine'scontemplative silence, Logre's fiery outbursts, and Charvet's coolvenom. When he went home, he did not at once retire to bed. He hadgrown very fond of his attic, that girlish bedroom, where Augustinehad left scraps of ribbons, souvenirs, and other feminine trifleslying about. There still remained some hair-pins on the mantelpiece,with gilt cardboard boxes of buttons and lozenges, cutout pictures,and empty pomade pots that retained an odour of jasmine. Then therewere some reels of thread, needles, and a missal lying by the side ofa soiled Dream-book in the drawer of the rickety deal table. A whitesummer dress with yellow spots hung forgotten from a nail; while uponthe board which served as a toilet-table a big stain behind the water-jug showed where a bottle of bandoline had been overturned. The littlechamber, with its narrow iron bed, its two rush-bottomed chairs, andits faded grey wallpaper, was instinct with innocent simplicity. Theplain white curtains, the childishness suggested by the cardboardboxes and the Dream-book, and the clumsy coquetry which had stainedthe walls, all charmed Florent and brought him back to dreams ofyouth. He would have preferred not to have known that plain, wiry-haired Augustine, but to have been able to imagine that he wasoccupying the room of a sister, some bright sweet girl of whosebudding womanhood every trifle around him spoke.Yet another pleasure which he took was to lean out of the garretwindow at nighttime. In front of it was a narrow ledge of roof,enclosed by an iron railing, and forming a sort of balcony, on whichAugustine had grown a pomegranate in a box. Since the nights hadturned cold, Florent had brought the pomegranate indoors and kept itby the foot of his bed till morning. He would linger for a few minutesby the open window, inhaling deep draughts of the sharp fresh airwhich was wafted up from the Seine, over the housetops of the Rue deRivoli. Below him the roofs of the markets spread confusedly in a greyexpanse, like slumbering lakes on whose surface the furtive reflectionof a pane of glass gleamed every now and then like a silvery ripple.Farther away the roofs of the meat and poultry pavilions lay in deepergloom, and became mere masses of shadow barring the horizon. Florentdelighted in the great stretch of open sky in front of him, in thatspreading expanse of the markets which amidst all the narrow citystreets brought him a dim vision of some strip of sea coast, of thestill grey waters of a bay scarce quivering from the roll of thedistant billows. He used to lose himself in dreams as he stood there;each night he conjured up the vision of some fresh coast line. Toreturn in mind to the eight years of despair which he had spent awayfrom France rendered him both very sad and very happy. Then at last,shivering all over, he would close the window. Often, as he stood infront of the fireplace taking off his collar, the photograph ofAuguste and Augustine would fill him with disquietude. They seemed tobe watching him as they stood there, hand in hand, smiling faintly.Florent's first few weeks at the fish market were very painful to him.The Mehudins treated him with open hostility, which infected the wholemarket with a spirit of opposition. The beautiful Norman intended torevenge herself on the handsome Lisa, and the latter's cousin seemed avictim ready to hand.The Mehudins came from Rouen. Louise's mother still related how shehad first arrived in Paris with a basket of eels. She had everafterwards remained in the fish trade. She had married a man employedin the Octroi service, who had died leaving her with two little girls.It was she who by her full figure and glowing freshness had won forherself in earlier days the nickname of "the beautiful Norman," whichher eldest daughter had inherited. Now five and sixty years of age,Madame Mehudin had become flabby and shapeless, and the damp air ofthe fish market had rendered her voice rough and hoarse, and given abluish tinge to her skin. Sedentary life had made her extremely bulky,and her head was thrown backwards by the exuberance of her bosom. Shehad never been willing to renounce the fashions of her younger days,but still wore the flowered gown, the yellow kerchief, and turban-likehead-gear of the classic fish-wife, besides retaining the latter'sloud voice and rapidity of gesture as she stood with her hands on herhips, shouting out the whole abusive vocabulary of her calling.She looked back regretfully to the old Marche des Innocents, which thenew central markets had supplanted. She would talk of the ancientrights of the market "ladies," and mingle stories of fisticuffsexchanged with the police with reminiscences of the visits she hadpaid the Court in the time of Charles X and Louis Philippe, dressed insilk, and carrying a bouquet of flowers in her hand. Old MotherMehudin, as she was now generally called, had for a long time been thebanner-bearer of the Sisterhood of the Virgin at St. Leu. She wouldrelate that in the processions in the church there she had worn adress and cap of tulle trimmed with satin ribbons, whilst holdingaloft in her puffy fingers the gilded staff of the richly-fringed silkstandard on which the figure of the Holy Mother was embroidered.According to the gossip of the neighbourhood, the old woman had made afairly substantial fortune, though the only signs of it were themassive gold ornaments with which she loaded her neck and arms andbosom on important occasions. Her two daughters got on badly togetheras they grew up. The younger one, Claire, an idle, fair-complexionedgirl, complained of the ill-treatment which she received from hersister Louise, protesting, in her languid voice, that she could neversubmit to be the other's servant. As they would certainly have endedby coming to blows, their mother separated them. She gave her stall inthe fish market to Louise, while Claire, whom the smell of the skateand the herrings affected in the lungs, installed herself among thefresh water fish. And from that time the old mother, although shepretended to have retired from business altogether, would flit fromone stall to the other, still interfering in the selling of the fish,and causing her daughters continual annoyance by the foul insolencewith which she would at times speak to customers.Claire was a fantastical creature, very gentle in her manner, and yetcontinually at loggerheads with others. People said that sheinvariably followed her own whimsical inclinations. In spite of herdreamy, girlish face she was imbued with a nature of silent firmness,a spirit of independence which prompted her to live apart; she nevertook things as other people did, but would one day evince perfectfairness, and the next day arrant injustice. She would sometimes throwthe market into confusion by suddenly increasing or lowering theprices at her stall, without anyone being able to guess her reason fordoing so. She herself would refuse to explain her motive. By the timeshe reached her thirtieth year, her delicate physique and fine skin,which the water of the tanks seemed to keep continually fresh andsoft, her small, faintly-marked face and lissome limbs would probablybecome heavy, coarse, and flabby, till she would look like some fadedsaint that had stepped from a stained-glass window into the degradingsphere of the markets. At twenty-two, however, Claire, in the midst ofher carp and eels, was, to use Claude Lantier's expression, a Murillo.A Murillo, that is, whose hair was often in disorder, who wore heavyshoes and clumsily cut dresses, which left her without any figure. Butshe was free from all coquetry, and she assumed an air of scornfulcontempt when Louise, displaying her bows and ribbons, chaffed herabout her clumsily knotted neckerchiefs. Moreover, she was virtuous;it was said that the son of a rich shopkeeper in the neighbourhood hadgone abroad in despair at having failed to induce her to listen to hissuit.Louise, the beautiful Norman, was of a different nature. She had beenengaged to be married to a clerk in the corn market; but a sack offlour falling upon the young man had broken his back and killed him.Not very long afterwards Louise had given birth to a boy. In theMehudins' circle of acquaintance she was looked upon as a widow; andthe old fish-wife in conversation would occasionally refer to the timewhen her son-in-law was alive.The Mehudins were a power in the markets. When Monsieur Verlaque hadfinished instructing Florent in his new duties, he advised him toconciliate certain of the stall-holders, if he wished his life to beendurable; and he even carried his sympathy so far as to put him inpossession of the little secrets of the office, such as the variouslittle breaches of rule that it was necessary to wink at, and those atwhich he would have to feign stern displeasure; and also thecircumstances under which he might accept a small present. A marketinspector is at once a constable and a magistrate; he has to maintainproper order and cleanliness, and settle in a conciliatory spirit alldisputes between buyers and sellers. Florent, who was of a weakdisposition put on an artificial sternness when he was obliged toexercise his authority, and generally over-acted his part. Moreover,his gloomy, pariah-like face and bitterness of spirit, the result oflong suffering, were against him.The beautiful Norman's idea was to involve him in some quarrel orother. She had sworn that he would not keep his berth a fortnight."That fat Lisa's much mistaken," said she one morning on meetingMadame Lecoeur, "if she thinks that she's going to put people over us.We don't want such ugly wretches here. That sweetheart of hers is aperfect fright!"After the auctions, when Florent commenced his round of inspection,strolling slowly through the dripping alleys, he could plainly see thebeautiful Norman watching him with an impudent smile on her face. Herstall, which was in the second row on the left, near the fresh waterfish department faced the Rue Rambuteau. She would turn round,however, and never take her eyes off her victim whilst making fun ofhim with her neighbours. And when he passed in front of her, slowlyexamining the slabs, she feigned hilarious merriment, slapped her fishwith her hand, and turned her jets of water on at full stream,flooding the pathway. Nevertheless Florent remained perfectly calm.At last, one morning as was bound to happen, war broke out. As Florentreached La Normande's stall that day an unbearable stench assailed hisnostrils. On the marble slab, in addition to part of a magnificentsalmon, showing its soft roseate flesh, there lay some turbots ofcreamy whiteness, a few conger-eels pierced with black pins to marktheir divisions, several pairs of soles, and some bass and red mullet--in fact, quite a display of fresh fish. But in the midst of it,amongst all these fish whose eyes still gleamed and whose gills wereof a bright crimson, there lay a huge skate of a ruddy tinge,splotched with dark stains--superb, indeed, with all its strangecolourings. Unfortunately, it was rotten; its tail was falling off andthe ribs of its fins were breaking through the skin."You must throw that skate away," said Florent as he came up.The beautiful Norman broke into a slight laugh. Florent raised hiseyes and saw her standing before him, with her back against the bronzelamp post which lighted the stalls in her division. She had mountedupon a box to keep her feet out of the damp, and appeared very tall ashe glanced at her. She looked also handsomer than usual, with her hairarranged in little curls, her sly face slightly bent, her lipscompressed, and her hands showing somewhat too rosily against her bigwhite apron. Florent had never before seen her decked with so muchjewellery. She had long pendants in her ears, a chain round her neck,a brooch in her dress body, and quite a collection of rings on twofingers of her left hand and one of her right.As she still continued to look slyly at Florent, without making anyreply, the latter continued: "Do you hear? You must remove thatskate."He had not yet noticed the presence of old Madame Mehudin, who sat allof a heap on a chair in a corner. She now got up, however, and, withher fists resting on the marble slap, insolently exclaimed: "Dear me!And why is she to throw her skate away? You won't pay her for it, I'llbet!"Florent immediately understood the position. The women at the otherstalls began to titter, and he felt that he was surrounded by covertrebellion, which a word might cause to blaze forth. He thereforerestrained himself, and in person drew the refuse-pail from under thestall and dropped the skate into it. Old Madame Mehudin had alreadystuck her hands on her hips, while the beautiful Norman, who had notspoken a word, burst into another malicious laugh as Florent strodesternly away amidst a chorus of jeers, which he pretended not to hear.Each day now some new trick was played upon him, and he was obliged towalk through the market alleys as warily as though he were in ahostile country. He was splashed with water from the sponges employedto cleanse the slabs; he stumbled and almost fell over slippery refuseintentionally spread in his way; and even the porters contrived to runtheir baskets against the nape of his neck. One day, moreover, whentwo of the fish-wives were quarrelling, and he hastened up to preventthem coming to blows, he was obliged to duck in order to escape beingslapped on either cheek by a shower of little dabs which passed overhis head. There was a general outburst of laughter on this occasion,and Florent always believed that the two fish-wives were in leaguewith the Mehudins. However, his old-time experiences as a teacher hadendowed him with angelic patience, and he was able to maintain amagisterial coolness of manner even when anger was hotly rising withinhim, and his whole being quivered with a sense of humiliation. Still,the young scamps of the Rue de l'Estrapade had never manifested thesavagery of these fish-wives, the cruel tenacity of these hugefemales, whose massive figures heaved and shook with a giant-like joywhenever he fell into any trap. They stared him out of countenancewith their red faces; and in the coarse tones of their voices and theimpudent gesture of their hands he could read volumes of filthy abuselevelled at himself. Gavard would have been quite in his elementamidst all these petticoats, and would have freely cuffed them allround; but Florent, who had always been afraid of women, graduallyfelt overwhelmed as by a sort of nightmare in which giant women, buxombeyond all imagination, danced threateningly around him, shouting athim in hoarse voices and brandishing bare arms, as massive as anyprize-fighter's.Amongst this hoard of females, however, Florent had one friend. Claireunhesitatingly declared that the new inspector was a very good fellow.When he passed in front of her, pursued by the coarse abuse of theothers, she gave him a pleasant smile, sitting nonchalantly behind herstall, with unruly errant locks of pale hair straying over her neckand her brow, and the bodice of her dress pinned all askew. He alsooften saw her dipping her hands into her tanks, transferring the fishfrom one compartment to another, and amusing herself by turning on thebrass taps, shaped like little dolphins with open mouths, from whichthe water poured in streamlets. Amidst the rustling sound of the watershe had some of the quivering grace of a girl who has just beenbathing and has hurriedly slipped on her clothes.One morning she was particularly amiable. She called the inspector toher to show him a huge eel which had been the wonder of the marketwhen exhibited at the auction. She opened the grating, which she hadpreviously closed over the basin in whose depths the eel seemed to belying sound asleep."Wait a moment," she said, "and I'll show it to you."Then she gently slipped her bare arm into the water; it was not a veryplump arm, and its veins showed softly blue beneath its satiny skin.As soon as the eel felt her touch, it rapidly twisted round, andseemed to fill the narrow trough with its glistening greenish coils.And directly it had settled down to rest again Claire once morestirred it with her fingertips."It is an enormous creature," Florent felt bound to say. "I haverarely seen such a fine one."Claire thereupon confessed to him that she had at first beenfrightened of eels; but now she had learned how to tighten her grip sothat they could not slip away. From another compartment she took asmaller one, which began to wriggle both with head and tail, as sheheld it about the middle in her closed fist. This made her laugh. Shelet it go, then seized another and another, scouring the basin andstirring up the whole heap of snaky-looking creatures with her slimfingers.Afterwards she began to speak of the slackness of trade. The hawkerson the foot-pavement of the covered way did the regular saleswomen agreat deal of injury, she said. Meantime her bare arm, which she hadnot wiped, was glistening and dripping with water. Big drops trickledfrom each finger."Oh," she exclaimed suddenly, "I must show you my carp, too!"She now removed another grating, and, using both hands, lifted out alarge carp, which began to flap its tail and gasp. It was too big tobe held conveniently, so she sought another one. This was smaller, andshe could hold it with one hand, but the latter was forced slightlyopen by the panting of the sides each time that the fish gasped. Toamuse herself it occurred to Claire to pop the tip of her thumb intothe carp's mouth whilst it was dilated. "It won't bite," said she withher gentle laugh; "it's not spiteful. No more are the crawfishes; I'mnot the least afraid of them."She plunged her arm into the water again, and from a compartment fullof a confused crawling mass brought up a crawfish that had caught herlittle finger in its claws. She gave the creature a shake, but it nodoubt gripped her too tightly, for she turned very red, and snappedoff its claw with a quick, angry gesture, though still continuing tosmile."By the way," she continued quickly, to conceal her emotion, "Iwouldn't trust myself with a pike; he'd cut off my fingers like aknife."She thereupon showed him some big pike arranged in order of size uponclean scoured shelves, beside some bronze-hued tench and little heapsof gudgeon. Her hands were now quite slimy with handling the carp, andas she stood there in the dampness rising from the tanks, she heldthem outstretched over the dripping fish on the stall. She seemedenveloped by an odour of spawn, that heavy scent which rises fromamong the reeds and water-lilies when the fish, languid in thesunlight, discharge their eggs. Then she wiped her hands on her apron,still smiling the placid smile of a girl who knew nothing of passionin that quivering atmosphere of the frigid loves of the river.The kindliness which Claire showed to Florent was but a slightconsolation to him. By stopping to talk to the girl he only drew uponhimself still coarser jeers from the other stallkeepers. Claireshrugged her shoulders, and said that her mother was an old jade, andher sister a worthless creature. The injustice of the market folktowards the new inspector filled her with indignation. The war betweenthem, however, grew more bitter every day. Florent had seriousthoughts of resigning his post; indeed, he would not have retained itfor another twenty-four hours if he had not been afraid that Lisamight imagine him to be a coward. He was frightened of what she mightsay and what she might think. She was naturally well aware of thecontest which was going on between the fish-wives and their inspector;for the whole echoing market resounded with it, and the entireneighbourhood discussed each fresh incident with endless comments."Ah, well," Lisa would often say in the evening, after dinner, "I'dsoon bring them to reason if I had anything to do with them! Why, theyare a lot of dirty jades that I wouldn't touch with the tip of myfinger! That Normande is the lowest of the low! I'd soon crush her,that I would! You should really use your authority, Florent. You arewrong to behave as you do. Put your foot down, and they'll all come totheir senses very quickly, you'll see."A terrible climax was presently reached. One morning the servant ofMadame Taboureau, the baker, came to the market to buy a brill; andthe beautiful Norman, having noticed her lingering near her stall forseveral minutes, began to make overtures to her in a coaxing way:"Come and see me; I'll suit you," she said. "Would you like a pair ofsoles, or a fine turbot?"Then as the servant at last came up, and sniffed at a brill with thatdissatisfied pout which buyers assume in the hope of getting what theywant at a lower price, La Normande continued:"Just feel the weight of that, now," and so saying she laid the brill,wrapped in a sheet of thick yellow paper, on the woman's open palm.The servant, a mournful little woman from Auvergne, felt the weight ofthe brill, and examined its gills, still pouting, and saying not aword."And how much do you want for it?" she asked presently, in a reluctanttone."Fifteen francs," replied La Normande.At this the servant hastily laid the brill on the stall again, andseemed anxious to hurry away, but the other detained her. "Wait amoment," said she. "What do you offer?""No, no, I can't take it. It is much too dear.""Come, now, make me an offer.""Well, will you take eight francs?"Old Madame Mehudin, who was there, suddenly seemed to wake up, andbroke out into a contemptuous laugh. Did people think that she and herdaughter stole the fish they sold? "Eight francs for a brill thatsize!" she exclaimed. "You'll be wanting one for nothing next, to useas a cooling plaster!"Meantime La Normande turned her head away, as though greatly offended.However, the servant came back twice and offered nine francs; andfinally she increased her bid to ten."All right, come on, give me your money!" cried the fish-girl, seeingthat the woman was now really going away.The servant took her stand in front of the stall and entered into afriendly gossip with old Madame Mehudin. Madame Taboureau, she said,was so exacting! She had got some people coming to dinner thatevening, some cousins from Blois a notary and his wife. MadameTaboureau's family, she added, was a very respectable one, and sheherself, although only a baker, had received an excellent education."You'll clean it nicely for me, won't you?" added the woman, pausingin her chatter.With a jerk of her finger La Normande had removed the fish's entrailsand tossed them into a pail. Then she slipped a corner of her apronunder its gills to wipe away a few grains of sand. "There, my dear,"she said, putting the fish into the servant's basket, "you'll comeback to thank me."Certainly the servant did come back a quarter of an hour afterwards,but it was with a flushed, red face. She had been crying, and herlittle body was trembling all over with anger. Tossing the brill on tothe marble slab, she pointed to a broad gash in its belly that reachedthe bone. Then a flood of broken words burst from her throat, whichwas still contracted by sobbing: "Madame Taboureau won't have it. Shesays she couldn't put it on her table. She told me, too, that I was anidiot, and let myself be cheated by anyone. You can see for yourselfthat the fish is spoilt. I never thought of turning it round; I quitetrusted you. Give me my ten francs back.""You should look at what you buy," the handsome Norman calmlyobserved.And then, as the servant was just raising her voice again, old MadameMehudin got up. "Just you shut up!" she cried. "We're not going totake back a fish that's been knocking about in other people's houses.How do we know that you didn't let it fall and damage it yourself?""I! I damage it!" The little servant was choking with indignation."Ah! you're a couple of thieves!" she cried, sobbing bitterly. "Yes, acouple of thieves! Madame Taboureau herself told me so!"Matters then became uproarious. Boiling over with rage and brandishingtheir fists, both mother and daughter fairly exploded; while the poorlittle servant, quite bewildered by their voices, the one hoarse andthe other shrill, which belaboured her with insults as though theywere battledores and she a shuttlecock, sobbed on more bitterly thanever."Be off with you! Your Madame Taboureau would like to be half as freshas that fish is! She'd like us to sew it up for her, no doubt!""A whole fish for ten francs! What'll she want next!"Then came coarse words and foul accusations. Had the servant been themost worthless of her sex she could not have been more bitterlyupbraided.Florent, whom the market keeper had gone to fetch, made his appearancewhen the quarrel was at its hottest. The whole pavilion seemed to bein a state of insurrection. The fish-wives, who manifest the keenestjealousy of each other when the sale of a penny herring is inquestion, display a united front when a quarrel arises with a buyer.They sang the popular old ditty, "The baker's wife has heaps ofcrowns, which cost her precious little"; they stamped their feet, andgoaded the Mehudins as though the latter were dogs which they wereurging on to bite and devour. And there were even some, having stallsat the other end of the alley, who rushed up wildly, as though theymeant to spring at the chignon of the poor little woman, she meantimebeing quite submerged by the flood of insulting abuse poured upon her."Return mademoiselle her ten francs," said Florent sternly, when hehad learned what had taken place.But old Madame Mehudin had her blood up. "As for you, my little man,"quoth she, "go to blazes! Here, that's how I'll return the tenfrancs!"As she spoke, she flung the brill with all her force at the head ofMadame Taboureau's servant, who received it full in the face. Theblood spurted from her nose, and the brill, after adhering for amoment to her cheeks, fell to the ground and burst with a flop likethat of a wet clout. This brutal act threw Florent into a fury. Thebeautiful Norman felt frightened and recoiled, as he cried out: "Isuspend you for a week, and I will have your licence withdrawn. Youhear me?"Then, as the other fish-wives were still jeering behind him, he turnedround with such a threatening air that they quailed like wild beastsmastered by the tamer, and tried to assume an expression of innocence.When the Mehudins had returned the ten francs, Florent peremptorilyordered them to cease selling at once. The old woman was choking withrage, while the daughter kept silent, but turned very white. She, thebeautiful Norman, to be driven out of her stall!Claire said in her quiet voice that it served her mother and sisterright, a remark which nearly resulted in the two girls tearing eachother's hair out that evening when they returned home to the RuePirouette. However, when the Mehudins came back to the market at theweek's end, they remained very quiet, reserved, and curt of speech,though full of a cold-blooded wrath. Moreover, they found the pavilionquite calm and restored to order again. From that day forward thebeautiful Norman must have harboured the thought of some terriblevengeance. She felt that she really had Lisa to thank for what hadhappened. She had met her, the day after the battle, carrying her headso high, that she had sworn she would make her pay dearly for herglance of triumph. She held interminable confabulations with MadameSaget, Madame Lecoeur, and La Sarriette, in quiet corners of themarket; however, all their chatter about the shameless conduct whichthey slanderously ascribed to Lisa and her cousin, and about the hairswhich they declared were found in Quenu's chitterlings, brought LaNormande little consolation. She was trying to think of some verymalicious plan of vengeance, which would strike her rival to theheart.Her child was growing up in the fish market in all freedom andneglect. When but three years old the youngster had been broughtthere, and day by day remained squatting on some rag amidst the fish.He would fall asleep beside the big tunnies as though he were one ofthem, and awake among the mackerel and whiting. The little rascalsmelt of fish as strongly as though he were some big fish's offspring.For a long time his favourite pastime, whenever his mother's back wasturned, was to build walls and houses of herrings; and he would alsoplay at soldiers on the marble slab, arranging the red gurnets inconfronting lines, pushing them against each other, and batteringtheir heads, while imitating the sound of drum and trumpet with hislips; after which he would throw them all into a heap again, andexclaim that they were dead. When he grew older he would prowl abouthis aunt Claire's stall to get hold of the bladders of the carp andpike which she gutted. He placed them on the ground and made themburst, an amusement which afforded him vast delight. When he was sevenhe rushed about the alleys, crawled under the stalls, ferreted amongstthe zinc bound fish boxes, and became the spoiled pet of all thewomen. Whenever they showed him something fresh which pleased him, hewould clasp his hands and exclaim in ecstasy, "Oh, isn't it stunning!"Muche was the exact word which he used; muche being the equivalentof "stunning" in the lingo of the markets; and he used the expressionso often that it clung to him as a nickname. He became known all overthe place as "Muche." It was Muche here, there and everywhere; no onecalled him anything else. He was to be met with in every nook; in out-of-the-way corners of the offices in the auction pavilion; among thepiles of oyster baskets, and betwixt the buckets where the refuse wasthrown. With a pinky fairness of skin, he was like a young barbelfrisking and gliding about in deep water. He was as fond of running,streaming water as any young fry. He was ever dabbling in the pools inthe alleys. He wetted himself with the drippings from the tables, andwhen no one was looking often slyly turned on the taps, rejoicing inthe bursting gush of water. But it was especially beside the fountainsnear the cellar steps that his mother went to seek him in the evening,and she would bring him thence with his hands quite blue, and hisshoes, and even his pockets, full of water.At seven years old Muche was as pretty as an angel, and as coarse inhis manners as any carter. He had curly chestnut hair, beautiful eyes,and an innocent-looking mouth which gave vent to language that even agendarme would have hesitated to use. Brought up amidst all theribaldry and profanity of the markets, he had the whole vocabulary ofthe place on the tip of his tongue. With his hands on his hips heoften mimicked Grandmother Mehudin in her anger, and at these timesthe coarsest and vilest expressions would stream from his lips in avoice of crystalline purity that might have belonged to some littlechorister chanting the Ave Maria. He would even try to assume ahoarse roughness of tone, seek to degrade and taint that exquisitefreshness of childhood which made him resemble a bambino on theMadonna's knees. The fish-wives laughed at him till they cried; andhe, encouraged, could scarcely say a couple of words without rappingout an oath. But in spite of all this he still remained charming,understanding nothing of the dirt amidst which he lived, kept invigorous health by the fresh breezes and sharp odours of the fishmarket, and reciting his vocabulary of coarse indecencies with as purea face as though he were saying his prayers.The winter was approaching, and Muche seemed very sensitive to thecold. As soon as the chilly weather set in he manifested a strongpredilection for the inspector's office. This was situated in theleft-hand corner of the pavilion, on the side of the Rue Rambuteau.The furniture consisted of a table, a stack of drawers, an easy-chair,two other chairs, and a stove. It was this stove which attractedMuche. Florent quite worshipped children, and when he saw the littlefellow, with his dripping legs, gazing wistfully through the window,he made him come inside. His first conversation with the lad causedhim profound amazement. Muche sat down in front of the stove, and inhis quiet voice exclaimed: "I'll just toast my toes, do you see? It'sd----d cold this morning." Then he broke into a rippling laugh, andadded: "Aunt Claire looks awfully blue this morning. Is it true, sir,that you are sweet on her?"Amazed though he was, Florent felt quite interested in the odd littlefellow. The handsome Norman retained her surly bearing, but allowedher son to frequent the inspector's office without a word ofobjection. Florent consequently concluded that he had the mother'spermission to receive the boy, and every afternoon he asked him in; bydegrees forming the idea of turning him into a steady, respectableyoung fellow. He could almost fancy that his brother Quenu had grownlittle again, and that they were both in the big room in the RueRoyer-Collard once more. The life which his self-sacrificing naturepictured to him as perfect happiness was a life spent with some youngbeing who would never grow up, whom he could go on teaching for ever,and in whose innocence he might still love his fellow man. On thethird day of his acquaintance with Muche he brought an alphabet to theoffice, and the lad delighted him by the intelligence he manifested.He learned his letters with all the sharp precocity which marks theParisian street arab, and derived great amusement from the woodcutsillustrating the alphabet.He found opportunities, too, for plenty of fine fun in the littleoffice, where the stove still remained the chief attraction and asource of endless enjoyment. At first he cooked potatoes and chestnutsat it, but presently these seemed insipid, and he thereupon stole somegudgeons from his aunt Claire, roasted them one by one, suspended froma string in front of the glowing fire, and then devoured them withgusto, though he had no bread. One day he even brought a carp withhim; but it was impossible to roast it sufficiently, and it made sucha smell in the office that both window and door had to be thrown open.Sometimes, when the odour of all these culinary operations became toostrong, Florent would throw the fish into the street, but as a rule heonly laughed. By the end of a couple of months Muche was able to readfairly well, and his copy-books did him credit.Meantime, every evening the lad wearied his mother with his talk abouthis good friend Florent. His good friend Florent had drawn himpictures of trees and of men in huts, said he. His good friend Florentwaved his arm and said that men would be far better if they all knewhow to read. And at last La Normande heard so much about Florent thatshe seemed to be almost intimate with this man against whom sheharboured so much rancour. One day she shut Muche up at home toprevent him from going to the inspector's, but he cried so bitterlythat she gave him his liberty again on the following morning. Therewas very little determination about her, in spite of her broadshoulders and bold looks. When the lad told her how nice and warm hehad been in the office, and came back to her with his clothes quitedry, she felt a sort of vague gratitude, a pleasure in knowing that hehad found a shelter-place where he could sit with his feet in front ofa fire. Later on, she was quite touched when he read her some wordsfrom a scrap of soiled newspaper wrapped round a slice of conger-eel.By degrees, indeed, she began to think, though without admitting it,that Florent could not really be a bad sort of fellow. She feltrespect for his knowledge, mingled with an increasing curiosity to seemore of him and learn something of his life. Then, all at once, shefound an excuse for gratifying this inquisitiveness. She would use itas a means of vengeance. It would be fine fun to make friends withFlorent and embroil him with that great fat Lisa."Does your good friend Florent ever speak to you about me?" she askedMuche one morning as she was dressing him."Oh, no," replied the boy. "We enjoy ourselves.""Well, you can tell him that I've quite forgiven him, and that I'mmuch obliged to him for having taught you to read."Thenceforward the child was entrusted with some message every day. Hewent backwards and forwards from his mother to the inspector, and fromthe inspector to his mother, charged with kindly words and questionsand answers, which he repeated mechanically without knowing theirmeaning. He might, indeed, have been safely trusted with the mostcompromising communications. However, the beautiful Norman felt afraidof appearing timid, and so one day she herself went to the inspector'soffice and sat down on the second chair, while Muche was having hiswriting lesson. She proved very suave and complimentary, and Florentwas by far the more embarrassed of the two. They only spoke of thelad; and when Florent expressed a fear that he might not be able tocontinue the lessons in the office, La Normande invited him to come totheir home in the evening. She spoke also of payment; but at this heblushed, and said that he certainly would not come if any mention weremade of money. Thereupon the young woman determined in her own mindthat she would recompense him with presents of choice fish.Peace was thus made between them; the beautiful Norman even tookFlorent under her protection. Apart from this, however, the wholemarket was becoming reconciled to the new inspector, the fish-wivesarriving at the conclusion that he was really a better fellow thanMonsieur Verlaque, notwithstanding his strange eyes. It was only oldMadame Mehudin who still shrugged her shoulders, full of rancour asshe was against the "long lanky-guts," as she contemptuously calledhim. And then, too, a strange thing happened. One morning, whenFlorent stopped with a smile before Claire's tanks, the girl droppedan eel which she was holding and angrily turned her back upon him, hercheeks quite swollen and reddened by temper. The inspector was so muchastonished that he spoke to La Normande about it."Oh, never mind her," said the young woman; "she's cracked. She makesa point of always differing from everybody else. She only behaved likethat to annoy me."La Normande was now triumphant--she strutted about her stall, andbecame more coquettish than ever, arranging her hair in the mostelaborate manner. Meeting the handsome Lisa one day she returned herlook of scorn, and even burst out laughing in her face. The certaintyshe felt of driving the mistress of the pork shop to despair bywinning her cousin from her endowed her with a gay, sonorous laugh,which rolled up from her chest and rippled her white plump neck. Shenow had the whim of dressing Muche very showily in a little Highlandcostume and velvet bonnet. The lad had never previously worn anythingbut a tattered blouse. It unfortunately happened, however, that justabout this time he again became very fond of the water. The ice hadmelted and the weather was mild, so he gave his Scotch jacket a bath,turning the fountain tap on at full flow and letting the water pourdown his arm from his elbow to his hand. He called this "playing atgutters." Then a little later, when his mother came up and caught him,she found him with two other young scamps watching a couple of littlefishes swimming about in his velvet cap, which he had filled withwater.For nearly eight months Florent lived in the markets, feelingcontinual drowsiness. After his seven years of suffering he hadlighted upon such calm quietude, such unbroken regularity of life,that he was scarcely conscious of existing. He gave himself up to thisjog-trot peacefulness with a dazed sort of feeling, continuallyexperiencing surprise at finding himself each morning in the samearmchair in the little office. This office with its bare hut-likeappearance had a charm for him. He here found a quiet and secludedrefuge amidst that ceaseless roar of the markets which made him dreamof some surging sea spreading around him, and isolating him from theworld. Gradually, however, a vague nervousness began to prey upon him;he became discontented, accused himself of faults which he could notdefine, and began to rebel against the emptiness which he experiencedmore and more acutely in mind and body. Then, too, the evil smells ofthe fish market brought him nausea. By degrees he became unhinged, hisvague boredom developing into restless, nervous excitement.All his days were precisely alike, spent among the same sounds and thesame odours. In the mornings the noisy buzzing of the auction salesresounded in his ears like a distant echo of bells; and sometimes,when there was a delay in the arrival of the fish, the auctionscontinued till very late. Upon these occasions he remained in thepavilion till noon, disturbed at every moment by quarrels anddisputes, which he endeavoured to settle with scrupulous justice.Hours elapsed before he could get free of some miserable matter orother which was exciting the market. He paced up and down amidst thecrush and uproar of the sales, slowly perambulating the alleys andoccasionally stopping in front of the stalls which fringed the RueRambuteau, and where lay rosy heaps of prawns and baskets of boiledlobsters with tails tied backwards, while live ones were graduallydying as they sprawled over the marble slabs. And then he would watchgentlemen in silk hats and black gloves bargaining with the fish-wives, and finally going off with boiled lobsters wrapped in paper inthe pockets of their frock-coats.[*] Farther away, at the temporarystalls, where the commoner sorts of fish were sold, he would recognisethe bareheaded women of the neighbourhood, who always came at the samehour to make their purchases.[*] The little fish-basket for the use of customers, so familiar inLondon, is not known in Paris.--Translator.At times he took an interest in some well-dressed lady trailing herlace petticoats over the damp stones, and escorted by a servant in awhite apron; and he would follow her at a little distance on noticinghow the fish-wives shrugged their shoulders at sight of her air ofdisgust. The medley of hampers and baskets and bags, the crowd ofskirts flitting along the damp alleys, occupied his attention untillunchtime. He took a delight in the dripping water and the freshbreeze as he passed from the acrid smell of the shell-fish to thepungent odour of the salted fish. It was always with the latter thathe brought his official round of inspection to a close. The cases ofred herrings, the Nantes sardines on their layers of leaves, and therolled cod, exposed for sale under the eyes of stout, faded fish-wives, brought him thoughts of a voyage necessitating a vast supply ofsalted provisions.In the afternoon the markets became quieter, grew drowsy; and Florentthen shut himself up in his office, made out his reports, and enjoyedthe happiest hours of his day. If he happened to go out and cross thefish market, he found it almost deserted. There was no longer thecrushing and pushing and uproar of ten o'clock in the morning. Thefish-wives, seated behind their stalls, leant back knitting, while afew belated purchasers prowled about casting sidelong glances at theremaining fish, with the thoughtful eyes and compressed lips of womenclosely calculating the price of their dinner. At last the twilightfell, there was a noise of boxes being moved, and the fish was laidfor the night on beds of ice; and then, after witnessing the closingof the gates, Florent went off, seemingly carrying the fish marketalong with him in his clothes and his beard and his hair.For the first few months this penetrating odour caused him no greatdiscomfort. The winter was a severe one, the frosts converted thealleys into slippery mirrors, and the fountains and marble slabs werefringed with a lacework of ice. In the mornings it was necessary toplace little braziers underneath the taps before a drop of water couldbe drawn. The frozen fish had twisted tails; and, dull of hue and hardto the touch like unpolished metal, gave out a ringing sound akin tothat of pale cast-iron when it snaps. Until February the pavilionpresented a most mournful appearance: it was deserted, and wrapped ina bristling shroud of ice. But with March came a thaw, with mildweather and fogs and rain. Then the fish became soft again, andunpleasant odours mingled with the smell of mud wafted from theneighbouring streets. These odours were as yet vague, tempered by themoisture which clung to the ground. But in the blazing June afternoonsa reeking stench arose, and the atmosphere became heavy with apestilential haze. The upper windows were then opened, and huge blindsof grey canvas were drawn beneath the burning sky. Nevertheless, afiery rain seemed to be pouring down, heating the market as though itwere a big stove, and there was not a breath of air to waft away thenoxious emanations from the fish. A visible steam went up from thestalls.The masses of food amongst which Florent lived now began to cause himthe greatest discomfort. The disgust with which the pork shop hadfilled him came back in a still more intolerable fashion. He almostsickened as he passed these masses of fish, which, despite all thewater lavished upon them, turned bad under a sudden whiff of hot air.Even when he shut himself up in his office his discomfort continued,for the abominable odour forced its way through the chinks in thewoodwork of the window and door. When the sky was grey and leaden, thelittle room remained quite dark; and then the day was like a longtwilight in the depths of some fetid march. He was often attacked byfits of nervous excitement, and felt a craving desire to walk; and hewould then descend into the cellars by the broad staircase opening inthe middle of the pavilion. In the pent-up air down below, in the dimlight of the occasional gas jets, he once more found the refreshingcoolness diffused by pure cold water. He would stand in front of thebig tank where the reserve stock of live fish was kept, and listen tothe ceaseless murmur of the four streamlets of water falling from thefour corners of the central urn, and then spreading into a broadstream and gliding beneath the locked gratings of the basins with agentle and continuous flow. This subterranean spring, this streammurmuring in the gloom, had a tranquillising effect upon him. Of anevening, too, he delighted in the fine sunsets which threw thedelicate lacework of the market buildings blackly against the red glowof the heavens. The dancing dust of the last sun rays streamed throughevery opening, through every chink of the Venetian shutters, and thewhole was like some luminous transparency on which the slender shaftsof the columns, the elegant curves of the girders, and the geometricaltracery of the roofs were minutely outlined. Florent feasted his eyeson this mighty diagram washed in with Indian ink on phosphorescentvellum, and his mind reverted to his old fancy of a colossal machinewith wheels and levers and beams espied in the crimson glow of thefires blazing beneath its boilers. At each consecutive hour of the daythe changing play of the light--from the bluish haze of early morningand the black shadows of noon to the flaring of the sinking sun andthe paling of its fires in the ashy grey of the twilight--revealed themarkets under a new aspect; but on the flaming evenings, when the foulsmells arose and forced their way across the broad yellow beams likehot puffs of steam, Florent again experienced discomfort, and hisdream changed, and he imagined himself in some gigantic knacker'sboiling-house where the fat of a whole people was being melted down.The coarseness of the market people, whose words and gestures seemedto be infected with the evil smell of the place, also made him suffer.He was very tolerant, and showed no mock modesty; still, theseimpudent women often embarrassed him. Madame Francois, whom he hadagain met, was the only one with whom he felt at ease. She showed suchpleasure on learning he had found a berth and was quite comfortableand out of worry, as she put it, that he was quite touched. Thelaughter of Lisa, the handsome Norman, and the others disquieted him;but of Madame Francois he would willingly have made a confidante. Shenever laughed mockingly at him; when she did laugh, it was like awoman rejoicing at another's happiness. She was a brave, pluckycreature, too; hers was a hard business in winter, during the frosts,and the rainy weather was still more trying. On some mornings Florentsaw her arrive in a pouring deluge which had been slowly, coldlyfalling ever since the previous night. Between Nanterre and Paris thewheels of her cart had sunk up to the axles in mud, and Balthazar wascaked with mire to his belly. His mistress would pity him andsympathise with him as she wiped him down with some old aprons."The poor creatures are very sensitive," said she; "a mere nothinggives them a cold. Ah, my poor old Balthazar! I really thought that wehad tumbled into the Seine as we crossed the Neuilly bridge, the raincame down in such a deluge!"While Balthazar was housed in the inn stable his mistress remained inthe pouring rain to sell her vegetables. The footway was transformedinto a lake of liquid mud. The cabbages, carrots, and turnips werepelted by the grey water, quite drowned by the muddy torrent thatrushed along the pavement. There was no longer any of that gloriousgreenery so apparent on bright mornings. The market gardeners,cowering in their heavy cloaks beneath the downpour, swore at themunicipality which, after due inquiry, had declared that rain was inno way injurious to vegetables, and that there was accordingly nonecessity to erect any shelters.Those rainy mornings greatly worried Florent, who thought about MadameFrancois. He always managed to slip away and get a word with her. Buthe never found her at all low-spirited. She shook herself like apoodle, saying that she was quite used to such weather, and was notmade of sugar, to melt away beneath a few drops of rain. However, hemade her seek refuge for a few minutes in one of the covered ways, andfrequently even took her to Monsieur Lebigre's, where they had somehot wine together. While she with her peaceful face beamed on him inall friendliness, he felt quite delighted with the healthy odour ofthe fields which she brought into the midst of the foul marketatmosphere. She exhaled a scent of earth, hay, fresh air, and openskies."You must come to Nanterre, my lad," she said to him, "and look at mykitchen garden. I have put borders of thyme everywhere. How bad yourvillainous Paris does smell!"Then she went off, dripping. Florent, on his side, felt quitere-invigorated when he parted from her. He tried, too the effect ofwork upon the nervous depression from which he suffered. He was a manof a very methodical temperament, and sometimes carried out his plansfor the allotment of his time with a strictness that bordered onmania. He shut himself up two evenings a week in order to write anexhaustive work on Cayenne. His modest bedroom was excellentlyadapted, he thought, to calm his mind and incline him to work. Helighted his fire, saw that the pomegranate at the foot of the bed waslooking all right, and then seated himself at the little table, andremained working till midnight. He had pushed the missal and Dream-book back in the drawer, which was now filling with notes, memoranda,manuscripts of all kinds. The work on Cayenne made but slow progress,however, as it was constantly being interrupted by other projects,plans for enormous undertakings which he sketched out in a few words.He successively drafted an outline of a complete reform of theadministrative system of the markets, a scheme for transforming thecity dues, levied on produce as it entered Paris, into taxes leviedupon the sales, a new system of victualling the poorer neighbourhoods,and, lastly, a somewhat vague socialist enactment for the storing incommon warehouses of all the provisions brought to the markets, andthe ensuring of a minimum daily supply to each household in Paris. Ashe sat there, with his head bent over his table, and his mind absorbedin thoughts of all these weighty matters, his gloomy figure cast agreat black shadow on the soft peacefulness of the garret. Sometimes achaffinch which he had picked up one snowy day in the market wouldmistake the lamplight for the day, and break the silence, which onlythe scratching of Florent's pen on his paper disturbed, by a cry.Florent was fated to revert to politics. He had suffered too muchthrough them not to make them the dearest occupation of his life.Under other conditions he might have become a good provincialschoolmaster, happy in the peaceful life of some little town. But hehad been treated as though he were a wolf, and felt as though he hadbeen marked out by exile for some great combative task. His nervousdiscomfort was the outcome of his long reveries at Cayenne, thebrooding bitterness he had felt at his unmerited sufferings, and thevows he had secretly sworn to avenge humanity and justice--the formerscourged with a whip, and the latter trodden under foot. Thosecolossal markets and their teeming odoriferous masses of food hadhastened the crisis. To Florent they appeared symbolical of someglutted, digesting beast, of Paris, wallowing in its fat and silentlyupholding the Empire. He seemed to be encircled by swelling forms andsleek, fat faces, which ever and ever protested against his ownmartyrlike scragginess and sallow, discontented visage. To him themarkets were like the stomach of the shopkeeping classes, the stomachof all the folks of average rectitude puffing itself out, rejoicing,glistening in the sunshine, and declaring that everything was for thebest, since peaceable people had never before grown so beautifullyfat. As these thoughts passed through his mind Florent clenched hisfists, and felt ready for a struggle, more irritated now by thethought of his exile than he had been when he first returned toFrance. Hatred resumed entire possession of him. He often let his pendrop and became absorbed in dreams. The dying fire cast a bright glowupon his face; the lamp burned smokily, and the chaffinch fell asleepagain on one leg, with its head tucked under its wing.Sometimes Auguste, on coming upstairs at eleven o'clock and seeing thelight shining under the door, would knock, before going to bed.Florent admitted him with some impatience. The assistant sat down infront of the fire, speaking but little, and never saying why he hadcome. His eyes would all the time remain fixed upon the photograph ofhimself and Augustine in their Sunday finery. Florent came to theconclusion that the young man took a pleasure in visiting the room forthe simple reason that it had been occupied by his sweetheart; and oneevening he asked him with a smile if he had guessed rightly."Well, perhaps it is so," replied Auguste, very much surprised at thediscovery which he himself now made of the reasons which actuated him."I'd really never thought of that before. I came to see you withoutknowing why. But if I were to tell Augustine, how she'd laugh!"Whenever he showed himself at all loquacious, his one eternal themewas the pork shop which he was going to set up with Augustine atPlaisance. He seemed so perfectly assured of arranging his life inaccordance with his desires, that Florent grew to feel a sort ofrespect for him, mingled with irritation. After all, the young fellowwas very resolute and energetic, in spite of his seeming stupidity. Hemade straight for the goal he had in view, and would doubtless reachit in perfect assurance and happiness. On the evenings of these visitsfrom the apprentice, Florent could not settle down to work again; hewent off to bed in a discontented mood, and did not recover hisequilibrium till the thought passed through his mind, "Why, thatAuguste is a perfect animal!"Every month he went to Clamart to see Monsieur Verlaque. These visitswere almost a delight to him. The poor man still lingered on, to thegreat astonishment of Gavard, who had not expected him to last formore than six months. Every time that Florent went to see him Verlaquewould declare that he was feeling better, and was most anxious toresume his work again. But the days glided by, and he had seriousrelapses. Florent would sit by his bedside, chat about the fishmarket, and do what he could to enliven him. He deposited on thepedestal table the fifty francs which he surrendered to him eachmonth; and the old inspector, though the payment had been agreed upon,invariably protested, and seemed disinclined to take the money. Thenthey would begin to speak of something else, and the coins remainedlying on the table. When Florent went away, Madame Verlaque alwaysaccompanied him to the street door. She was a gentle little woman, ofa very tearful disposition. Her one topic of conversation was theexpense necessitated by her husband's illness, the costliness ofchicken broth, butcher's meat, Bordeaux wine, medicine, and doctors'fees. Her doleful conversation greatly embarrassed Florent, and on thefirst few occasions he did not understand the drift of it. But atlast, as the poor woman seemed always in a state of tears, and keptsaying how happy and comfortable they had been when they had enjoyedthe full salary of eighteen hundred francs a year, he timidly offeredto make her a private allowance, to be kept secret from her husband.This offer, however, she declined, inconsistently declaring that thefifty francs were sufficient. But in the course of the month shefrequently wrote to Florent, calling him their saviour. Herhandwriting was small and fine, yet she would contrive to fill threepages of letter paper with humble, flowing sentences entreating theloan of ten francs; and this she at last did so regularly thatwellnigh the whole of Florent's hundred and fifty francs found its wayto the Verlaques. The husband was probably unaware of it; however, thewife gratefully kissed Florent's hands. This charity afforded him thegreatest pleasure, and he concealed it as though it were someforbidden selfish indulgence."That rascal Verlaque is making a fool of you," Gavard would sometimessay. "He's coddling himself up finely now that you are doing the workand paying him an income."At last one day Florent replied:"Oh, we've arranged matters together. I'm only to give him twenty-fivefrancs a month in future."As a matter of fact, Florent had but little need of money. The Quenuscontinued to provide him with board and lodging; and the few francswhich he kept by him sufficed to pay for the refreshment he took inthe evening at Monsieur Lebigre's. His life had gradually assumed allthe regularity of clockwork. He worked in his bedroom, continued toteach little Muche twice a week from eight to nine o'clock, devoted anevening to Lisa, to avoid offending her, and spent the rest of hisspare time in the little "cabinet" with Gavard and his friends.When he went to the Mehudins' there was a touch of tutorial stiffnessin his gentle demeanour. He was pleased with the old house in the RuePirouette. On the ground floor he passed through the faint odourspervading the premises of the purveyor of cooked vegetables. Big pansof boiled spinach and sorrel stood cooling in the little backyard.Then he ascended the winding staircase, greasy and dark, with worn andbulging steps which sloped in a disquieting manner. The Mehudinsoccupied the whole of the second floor. Even when they had attained tocomfortable circumstances the old mother had always declined to moveinto fresh quarters, despite all the supplications of her daughters,who dreamt of living in a new house in a fine broad street. But onthis point the old woman was not to be moved; she had lived there, shesaid, and meant to die there. She contented herself, moreover, with adark little closet, leaving the largest rooms to Claire and LaNormande. The later, with the authority of the elder born, had takenpossession of the room that overlooked the street; it was the best andlargest of the suite. Claire was so much annoyed at her sister'saction in the matter that she refused to occupy the adjoining room,whose window overlooked the yard, and obstinately insisted on sleepingon the other side of the landing, in a sort of garret, which she didnot even have whitewashed. However, she had her own key, and so wasindependent; directly anything happened to displease her she lockedherself up in her own quarters.As a rule, when Florent arrived the Mehudins were just finishing theirdinner. Muche sprang to his neck, and for a moment the young manremained seated with the lad chattering between his legs. Then, whenthe oilcloth cover had been wiped, the lesson began on a corner of thetable. The beautiful Norman gave Florent a cordial welcome. Shegenerally began to knit or mend some linen, and would draw her chairup to the table and work by the light of the same lamp as the others;and she frequently put down her needle to listen to the lesson, whichfilled her with surprise. She soon began to feel warm esteem for thisman who seemed so clever, who, in speaking to the little one, showedhimself as gentle as a woman, and manifested angelic patience in againand again repeating the same instructions. She no longer consideredhim at all plain, but even felt somewhat jealous of beautiful Lisa.And then she drew her chair still nearer, and gazed at Florent with anembarrassing smile."But you are jogging my elbow, mother, and I can't write," Mucheexclaimed angrily. "There! see what a blot you've made me make! Getfurther away, do!"La Normande now gradually began to say a good many unpleasant thingsabout beautiful Lisa. She pretended that the latter concealed her realage, that she laced her stays so tightly that she nearly suffocatedherself, and that if she came down of a morning looking so trim andneat, without a single hair out of place, it must be because shelooked perfectly hideous when in dishabille. Then La Normande wouldraise her arm a little, and say that there was no need for her to wearany stays to cramp and deform her figure. At these times the lessonswould be interrupted, and Muche gazed with interest at his mother asshe raised her arms. Florent listened to her, and even laughed,thinking to himself that women were very odd creatures. The rivalrybetween the beautiful Norman and beautiful Lisa amused him.Muche, however, managed to finish his page of writing. Florent, whowas a good penman, set him copies in large hand and round hand onslips of paper. The words he chose were very long and took up thewhole line, and he evinced a marked partiality for such expressions as"tyrannically," "liberticide," "unconstitutional," and"revolutionary." At times also he made the boy copy such sentences asthese: "The day of justice will surely come"; "The suffering of thejust man is the condemnation of the oppressor"; "When the hourstrikes, the guilty shall fall." In preparing these copy slips he was,indeed, influenced by the ideas which haunted his brain; he would forthe time become quite oblivious of Muche, the beautiful Norman, andall his surroundings. The lad would have copied Rousseau's "ContratSocial" had he been told to do so; and thus, drawing each letter inturn, he filled page after page with lines of "tyrannically" and"unconstitutional."As long as the tutor remained there, old Madame Mehudin kept fidgetinground the table, muttering to herself. She still harboured terriblerancour against Florent; and asserted that it was folly to make thelad work in that way at a time when children should be in bed. Shewould certainly have turned that "spindle-shanks" out of the house, ifthe beautiful Norman, after a stormy scene, had not bluntly told herthat she would go to live elsewhere if she were not allowed to receivewhom she chose. However, the pair began quarrelling again on thesubject every evening."You may say what you like," exclaimed the old woman; "but he's gottreacherous eyes. And, besides, I'm always suspicious of those skinnypeople. A skinny man's capable of anything. I've never come across adecent one yet. That one's as flat as a board. And he's got such anugly face, too! Though I'm sixty-five and more, I'd precious soon sendhim about his business if he came a-courting of me!"She said this because she had a shrewd idea of how matters were likelyto turn out. And then she went on to speak in laudatory terms ofMonsieur Lebigre, who, indeed, paid the greatest attention to thebeautiful Norman. Apart from the handsome dowry which he imagined shewould bring with her, he considered that she would be a magnificentacquisition to his counter. The old woman never missed an opportunityto sound his praises; there was no lankiness, at any rate, about him,said she; he was stout and strong, with a pair of calves which wouldhave done honour even to one of the Emperor's footmen.However, La Normande shrugged her shoulders and snappishly replied:"What do I care whether he's stout or not? I don't want him oranybody. And besides, I shall do as I please."Then, if the old woman became too pointed in her remarks, the otheradded: "It's no business of yours, and besides, it isn't true. Holdyour tongue and don't worry me." And thereupon she would go off intoher room, banging the door behind her. Florent, however, had a yetmore bitter enemy than Madame Mehudin in the house. As soon as ever hearrived there, Claire would get up without a word, take a candle, andgo off to her own room on the other side of the landing; and she couldbe heard locking her door in a burst of sullen anger. One evening whenher sister asked the tutor to dinner, she prepared her own food on thelanding, and ate it in her bedroom; and now and again she secludedherself so closely that nothing was seen of her for a week at a time.She usually retained her appearance of soft lissomness, butperiodically had a fit of iron rigidity, when her eyes blazed fromunder her pale tawny locks like those of a distrustful wild animal.Old Mother Mehudin, fancying that she might relieve herself in hercompany, only made her furious by speaking to her of Florent; andthereupon the old woman, in her exasperation, told everyone that shewould have gone off and left her daughters to themselves had she notbeen afraid of their devouring each other if they remained alonetogether.As Florent went away one evening, he passed in front of Claire's door,which was standing wide open. He saw the girl look at him, and turnvery red. Her hostile demeanour annoyed him; and it was only thetimidity which he felt in the presence of women that restrained himfrom seeking an explanation of her conduct. On this particular eveninghe would certainly have addressed her if he had not detectedMademoiselle Saget's pale face peering over the balustrade of theupper landing. So he went his way, but had not taken a dozen stepsbefore Claire's door was closed behind him with such violence as toshake the whole staircase. It was after this that Mademoiselle Saget,eager to propagate slander, went about repeating everywhere thatMadame Quenu's cousin was "carrying on" most dreadfully with both theMehudin girls.Florent, however, gave very little thought to these two handsome youngwomen. His usual manner towards them was that of a man who has butlittle success with the sex. Certainly he had come to entertain afeeling of genuine friendship for La Normande, who really displayed avery good heart when her impetuous temper did not run away with her.But he never went any further than this. Moreover, the queenlyproportions of her robust figure filled him with a kind of alarm; andof an evening, whenever she drew her chair up to the lamp and bentforward as though to look at Muche's copy-book, he drew in his ownsharp bony elbows and shrunken shoulders as if realising what apitiful specimen of humanity he was by the side of that buxom, hardycreature so full of the life of ripe womanhood. Moreover, there wasanother reason why he recoiled from her. The smells of the marketsdistressed him; on finishing his duties of an evening he would haveliked to escape from the fishy odour amidst which his days were spent;but, alas! beautiful though La Normande was, this odour seemed toadhere to her silky skin. She had tried every sort of aromatic oil,and bathed freely; but as soon as the freshening influence of the bathwas over her blood again impregnated her skin with the faint odour ofsalmon, the musky perfume of smelts, and the pungent scent of herringsand skate. Her skirts, too, as she moved about, exhaled these fishysmells, and she walked as though amidst an atmosphere redolent ofslimy seaweed. With her tall, goddess-like figure, her purity of form,and transparency of complexion she resembled some lovely antiquemarble that had rolled about in the depths of the sea and had beenbrought to land in some fisherman's net.Mademoiselle Saget, however, swore by all her gods that Florent wasthe young woman's lover. According to her account, indeed, he courtedboth the sisters. She had quarrelled with the beautiful Norman about aten-sou dab; and ever since this falling-out she had manifested warmfriendship for handsome Lisa. By this means she hoped the sooner toarrive at a solution of what she called the Quenus' mystery. Florentstill continued to elude her curiosity, and she told her friends thatshe felt like a body without a soul, though she was careful not toreveal what was troubling her so grievously. A young girl infatuatedwith a hopeless passion could not have been in more distress than thisterrible old woman at finding herself unable to solve the mystery ofthe Quenus' cousin. She was constantly playing the spy on Florent,following him about, and watching him, in a burning rage at herfailure to satisfy her rampant curiosity. Now that he had begun tovisit the Mehudins she was for ever haunting the stairs and landings.She soon discovered that handsome Lisa was much annoyed at Florentvisiting "those women," and accordingly she called at the pork shopevery morning with a budget of information. She went in shrivelled andshrunk by the frosty air, and, resting her hands on the heating-pan towarm them, remained in front of the counter buying nothing, butrepeating in her shrill voice: "He was with them again yesterday; heseems to live there now. I heard La Normande call him 'my dear' on thestaircase."She indulged like this in all sorts of lies in order to remain in theshop and continue warming her hands for a little longer. On themorning after the evening when she had heard Claire close her doorbehind Florent, she spun out her story for a good half hour, inventingall sorts of mendacious and abominable particulars.Lisa, who had assumed a look of contemptuous scorn, said but little,simply encouraging Mademoiselle Saget's gossip by her silence. Atlast, however, she interrupted her. "No, no," she said; "I can'treally listen to all that. Is it possible that there can be suchwomen?"Thereupon Mademoiselle Saget told Lisa that unfortunately all womenwere not so well conducted as herself. And then she pretended to findall sorts of excuses for Florent: it wasn't his fault; he was no doubta bachelor; these women had very likely inveigled him in their snares.In this way she hinted questions without openly asking them. But Lisapreserved silence with respect to her cousin, merely shrugging hershoulders and compressing her lips. When Mademoiselle Saget at lastwent away, the mistress of the shop glanced with disgust at the coverof the heating-pan, the glistening metal of which had been tarnishedby the impression of the old woman's little hands."Augustine," she cried, "bring a duster, and wipe the cover of theheating-pan. It's quite filthy!"The rivalry between the beautiful Lisa and the beautiful Norman nowbecame formidable. The beautiful Norman flattered herself that she hadcarried a lover off from her enemy; and the beautiful Lisa wasindignant with the hussy who, by luring the sly cousin to her home,would surely end by compromising them all. The natural temperament ofeach woman manifested itself in the hostilities which ensued. The oneremained calm and scornful, like a lady who holds up her skirts tokeep them from being soiled by the mud; while the other, much lesssubject to shame, displayed insolent gaiety and swaggered along thefootways with the airs of a duellist seeking a cause of quarrel. Eachof their skirmishes would be the talk of the fish market for the wholeday. When the beautiful Norman saw the beautiful Lisa standing at thedoor of her shop, she would go out of her way in order to pass her,and brush against her with her apron; and then the angry glances ofthe two rivals crossed like rapiers, with the rapid flash and thrustof pointed steel. When the beautiful Lisa, on the other hand, went tothe fish market, she assumed an expression of disgust on approachingthe beautiful Norman's stall. And then she proceeded to purchase somebig fish--a turbot or a salmon--of a neighbouring dealer, spreadingher money out on the marble slab as she did so, for she had noticedthat this seemed to have a painful effect upon the "hussy," who ceasedlaughing at the sight. To hear the two rivals speak, anyone would havesupposed that the fish and pork they sold were quite unfit for food.However, their principal engagements took place when the beautifulNorman was seated at her stall and the beautiful Lisa at her counter,and they glowered blackly at each other across the Rue Rambuteau. Theysat in state in their big white aprons, decked out with showy toiletsand jewels, and the battle between them would commence early in themorning."Hallo, the fat woman's got up!" the beautiful Norman would exclaim."She ties herself up as tightly as her sausages! Ah, she's gotSaturday's collar on again, and she's still wearing that poplindress!"At the same moment, on the opposite side of the street, beautiful Lisawas saying to her shop girl: "Just look at that creature staring at usover yonder, Augustine! She's getting quite deformed by the life sheleads. Do you see her earrings? She's wearing those big drops of hers,isn't she? It makes one feel ashamed to see a girl like that withbrilliants."All complaisance, Augustine echoed her mistress's words.When either of them was able to display a new ornament it was likescoring a victory--the other one almost choked with spleen. Every daythey would scrutinise and count each other's customers, and manifestthe greatest annoyance if they thought that the "big thing over theway" was doing the better business. Then they spied out what each hadfor lunch. Each knew what the other ate, and even watched to see howshe digested it. In the afternoon, while the one sat amidst her cookedmeats and the other amidst her fish, they posed and gave themselvesairs, as though they were queens of beauty. It was then that thevictory of the day was decided. The beautiful Norman embroidered,selecting the most delicate and difficult work, and this arousedLisa's exasperation."Ah!" she said, speaking of her rival, "she had far better mend herboy's stockings. He's running about quite barefooted. Just look atthat fine lady, with her red hands stinking of fish!"For her part, Lisa usually knitted."She's still at that same sock," La Normande would say, as she watchedher. "She eats so much that she goes to sleep over her work. I pityher poor husband if he's waiting for those socks to keep his feetwarm!"They would sit glowering at each other with this implacable hostilityuntil evening, taking note of every customer, and displaying such keeneyesight that they detected the smallest details of each other's dressand person when other women declared that they could see nothing atsuch a distance. Mademoiselle Saget expressed the highest admirationfor Madame Quenu's wonderful sight when she one day detected a scratchon the fish-girl's left cheek. With eyes like those, said the oldmaid, one might even see through a door. However, the victory oftenremained undecided when night fell; sometimes one or other of therivals was temporarily crushed, but she took her revenge on themorrow. Several people of the neighbourhood actually laid wagers onthese contests, some backing the beautiful Lisa and others thebeautiful Norman.At last they ended by forbidding their children to speak to oneanother. Pauline and Muche had formerly been good friends,notwithstanding the girl's stiff petticoats and lady-like demeanour,and the lad's tattered appearance, coarse language, and rough manners.They had at times played together at horses on the broad footway infront of the fish market, Pauline always being the horse and Muche thedriver. One day, however, when the boy came in all simplicity to seekhis playmate, Lisa turned him out of the house, declaring that he wasa dirty little street arab."One can't tell what may happen with children who have been soshockingly brought up," she observed."Yes, indeed; you are quite right," replied Mademoiselle Saget, whohappened to be present.When Muche, who was barely seven years old, came in tears to hismother to tell her of what had happened, La Normande broke out into aterrible passion. At the first moment she felt a strong inclination torush over to the Quenu-Gradelles' and smash everything in their shop.But eventually she contented herself with giving Muche a whipping."If ever I catch you going there again," she cried, boiling over withanger, "you'll get it hot from me, I can tell you!"Florent, however, was the real victim of the two women. It was he, intruth, who had set them by the ears, and it was on his account thatthey were fighting each other. Ever since he had appeared upon thescene things had been going from bad to worse. He compromised anddisturbed and embittered all these people, who had previously lived insuch sleek peace and harmony. The beautiful Norman felt inclined toclaw him when he lingered too long with the Quenus, and it was chieflyfrom an impulse of hostile rivalry that she desired to win him toherself. The beautiful Lisa, on her side, maintained a cold judicialbearing, and although extremely annoyed, forced herself to silencewhenever she saw Florent leaving the pork shop to go to the RuePirouette.Still, there was now much less cordiality than formerly round theQuenus' dinner-table in the evening. The clean, prim dining-roomseemed to have assumed an aspect of chilling severity. Florent divineda reproach, a sort of condemnation in the bright oak, the polishedlamp, and the new matting. He scarcely dared to eat for fear ofletting crumbs fall on the floor or soiling his plate. There was aguileless simplicity about him which prevented him from seeing how theland really lay. He still praised Lisa's affectionate kindliness onall sides; and outwardly, indeed, she did continue to treat him withall gentleness."It is very strange," she said to him one day with a smile, as thoughshe were joking; "although you don't eat at all badly now, you don'tget fatter. Your food doesn't seem to do you any good."At this Quenu laughed aloud, and tapping his brother's stomach,protested that the whole contents of the pork shop might pass throughit without depositing a layer of fat as thick as a two-sou piece.However, Lisa's insistence on this particular subject was instinctwith that same suspicious dislike for fleshless men which MadameMehudin manifested more outspokenly; and behind it all there waslikewise a veiled allusion to the disorderly life which she imaginedFlorent was leading. She never, however, spoke a word to him about LaNormande. Quenu had attempted a joke on the subject one evening, butLisa had received it so icily that the good man had not ventured torefer to the matter again. They would remain seated at table for a fewmoments after dessert, and Florent, who had noticed his sister-in-law's vexation if ever he went off too soon, tried to find somethingto talk about. On these occasions Lisa would be near him, andcertainly he did not suffer in her presence from that fishy smellwhich assailed him when he was in the company of La Normande. Themistress of the pork shop, on the contrary, exhaled an odour of fatand rich meats. Moreover, not a thrill of life stirred her tight-fitting bodice; she was all massiveness and all sedateness. Gavardonce said to Florent in confidence that Madame Quenu was no doubthandsome, but that for his part he did not admire such armour-platedwomen.Lisa avoided talking to Quenu of Florent. She habitually pridedherself on her patience, and considered, too, that it would not beproper to cause any unpleasantness between the brothers, unless someperemptory reason for her interference should arise. As she said, shecould put up with a good deal, but, of course, she must not be triedtoo far. She had now reached the period of courteous tolerance,wearing an expressionless face, affecting perfect indifference andstrict politeness, and carefully avoiding everything which might seemto hint that Florent was boarding and lodging with them without theirreceiving the slightest payment from him. Not, indeed, that she wouldhave accepted any payment from him, she was above all that; still hemight, at any rate, she thought, have lunched away from the house."We never seem to be alone now," she remarked to Quenu one day. "Ifthere is anything we want to say to one another we have to wait tillwe go upstairs at night."And then, one night when they were in bed, she said to him: "Yourbrother earns a hundred and fifty francs a month, doesn't he? Well,it's strange he can't put a trifle by to buy himself some more linen.I've been obliged to give him three more of your old shirts.""Oh, that doesn't matter," Quenu replied. "Florent's not hard toplease; and we must let him keep his money for himself.""Oh, yes, of course," said Lisa, without pressing the matter further."I didn't mention it for that reason. Whether he spends his money wellor ill, it isn't our business."In her own mind she felt quite sure that he wasted his salary at theMehudins'.Only on one occasion did she break through her habitual calmness ofdemeanour, the quiet reserve which was the result of both naturaltemperament and preconceived design. The beautiful Norman had madeFlorent a present of a magnificent salmon. Feeling very muchembarrassed with the fish, and not daring to refuse it, he brought itto Lisa."You can make a pasty of it," he said ingenuously.Lisa looked at him sternly with whitening lips. Then, striving torestrain her anger, she exclaimed: "Do you think that we are short offood? Thank God, we've got quite enough to eat here! Take it back!""Well, at any rate, cook it for me," replied Florent, amazed by heranger; "I'll eat it myself."At this she burst out furiously."The house isn't an inn! Tell those who gave you the fish to cook itfor you! I won't have my pans tainted and infected! Take it backagain! Do you hear?"If he had not gone away with it, she would certainly have seized itand hurled it into the street. Florent took it to Monsieur Lebigre's,where Rose was ordered to make a pasty of it; and one evening thepasty was eaten in the little "cabinet," Gavard, who was present,"standing" some oysters for the occasion. Florent now gradually camemore and more frequently to Monsieur Lebigre's, till at last he wasconstantly to be met in the little private room. He there found anatmosphere of heated excitement in which his political feverishnesscould pulsate freely. At times, now, when he shut himself up in hisgarret to work, the quiet simplicity of the little room irritated him,his theoretical search for liberty proved quite insufficient, and itbecame necessary that he should go downstairs, sally out, and seeksatisfaction in the trenchant axioms of Charvet and the wild outburstsof Logre. During the first few evenings the clamour and chatter hadmade him feel ill at ease; he was then quite conscious of their utteremptiness, but he felt a need of drowning his thoughts, of goadinghimself on to some extreme resolution which might calm his mentaldisquietude. The atmosphere of the little room, reeking with the odourof spirits and warm with tobacco smoke, intoxicated him and filled himwith peculiar beatitude, prompting a kind of self-surrender which madehim willing to acquiesce in the wildest ideas. He grew attached tothose he met there, and looked for them and awaited their coming witha pleasure which increased with habit. Robine's mild, beardedcountenance, Clemence's serious profile, Charvet's fleshless pallor,Logre's hump, Gavard, Alexandre, and Lacaille, all entered into hislife, and assumed a larger and larger place in it. He took quite asensual enjoyment in these meetings. When his fingers closed round thebrass knob on the door of the little cabinet it seemed to be animatedwith life, to warm him, and turn of its own accord. Had he grasped thesupple wrist of a woman he could not have felt a more thrillingemotion.To tell the truth, very serious things took place in that little room.One evening, Logre, after indulging in wilder outbursts than usual,banged his fist upon the table, declaring that if they were men theywould make a clean sweep of the Government. And he added that it wasnecessary they should come to an understanding without further delay,if they desired to be fully prepared when the time for action arrived.Then they all bent their heads together, discussed the matter in lowertones, and decided to form a little "group," which should be ready forwhatever might happen. From that day forward Gavard flattered himselfthat he was a member of a secret society, and was engaged in aconspiracy. The little circle received no new members, but Logrepromised to put it into communication with other associations withwhich he was acquainted; and then, as soon as they held all Paris intheir grasp, they would rise and make the Tuileries' people dance. Aseries of endless discussions, renewed during several months, thenbegan--discussions on questions of organisation, on questions of waysand means, on questions of strategy, and of the form of the futureGovernment. As soon as Rose had brought Clemence's grog, Charvet's andRobine's beer, the coffee for Logre, Gavard, and Florent, and theliqueur glasses of brandy for Lacaille and Alexandre, the door of thecabinet was carefully fastened, and the debate began.Charvet and Florent were naturally those whose utterances werelistened to with the greatest attention. Gavard had not been able tokeep his tongue from wagging, but had gradually related the wholestory of Cayenne; and Florent found himself surrounded by a halo ofmartyrdom. His words were received as though they were the expressionof indisputable dogmas. One evening, however, the poultry dealer,vexed at hearing his friend, who happened to be absent, attacked,exclaimed: "Don't say anything against Florent; he's been to Cayenne!"Charvet was rather annoyed by the advantage which this circumstancegave to Florent. "Cayenne, Cayenne," he muttered between his teeth."Ah, well, they were not so badly off there, after all."Then he attempted to prove that exile was a mere nothing, and thatreal suffering consisted in remaining in one's oppressed country,gagged in presence of triumphant despotism. And besides, he urged, itwasn't his fault that he hadn't been arrested on the Second ofDecember. Next, however, he hinted that those who had allowedthemselves to be captured were imbeciles. His secret jealousy made hima systematic opponent of Florent; and the general discussions alwaysended in a duel between these two, who, while their companionslistened in silence, would speak against one another for hours at atime, without either of them allowing that he was beaten.One of the favourite subjects of discussion was that of thereorganisation of the country which would have to be effected on themorrow of their victory."We are the conquerors, are we not?" began Gavard.And, triumph being taken for granted, everyone offered his opinion.There were two rival parties. Charvet, who was a disciple of Hebert,was supported by Logre and Robine; while Florent, who was alwaysabsorbed in humanitarian dreams, and called himself a Socialist, wasbacked by Alexandre and Lacaille. As for Gavard, he felt no repugnancefor violent action; but, as he was often twitted about his fortunewith no end of sarcastic witticisms which annoyed him, he declaredhimself a Communist."We must make a clean sweep of everything," Charvet would curtly say,as though he were delivering a blow with a cleaver. "The trunk isrotten, and it must come down.""Yes! yes!" cried Logre, standing up that he might look taller, andmaking the partition shake with the excited motion of his hump."Everything will be levelled to the ground; take my word for it. Afterthat we shall see what to do."Robine signified approval by wagging his beard. His silence seemedinstinct with delight whenever violent revolutionary propositions weremade. His eyes assumed a soft ecstatic expression at the mention ofthe guillotine. He half closed them, as though he could see themachine, and was filled with pleasant emotion at the sight; and nexthe would gently rub his chin against the knob of his stick, with asubdued purr of satisfaction."All the same," said Florent, in whose voice a vague touch of sadnesslingered, "if you cut down the tree it will be necessary to preservesome seed. For my part, I think that the tree ought to be preserved,so that we may graft new life on it. The political revolution, youknow, has already taken place; to-day we have got to think of thelabourer, the working man. Our movement must be altogether a socialone. I defy you to reject the claims of the people. They are weary ofwaiting, and are determined to have their share of happiness."These words aroused Alexandre's enthusiasm. With a beaming, radiantface he declared that this was true, that the people were weary ofwaiting."And we will have our share," added Lacaille, with a more menacingexpression. "All the revolutions that have taken place have been forthe good of the middle classes. We've had quite enough of that sort ofthing, and the next one shall be for our benefit."From this moment disagreement set in. Gavard offered to make adivision of his property, but Logre declined, asserting that he carednothing for money. Then Charvet gradually overcame the tumult, till atlast he alone was heard speaking."The selfishness of the different classes does more than anything elseto uphold tyranny," said he. "It is wrong of the people to displayegotism. If they assist us they shall have their share. But why shouldI fight for the working man if the working man won't fight for me?Moreover, that is not the question at present. Ten years ofrevolutionary dictatorship will be necessary to accustom a nation likeFrance to the fitting enjoyment of liberty.""All the more so as the working man is not ripe for it, and requiresto be directed," said Clemence bluntly.She but seldom spoke. This tall, serious looking girl, alone among somany men, listened to all the political chatter with a learnedlycritical air. She leaned back against the partition, and every now andthen sipped her grog whilst gazing at the speakers with frowning browsor inflated nostrils, thus silently signifying her approval ordisapproval, and making it quite clear that she held decided opinionsupon the most complicated matters. At times she would roll acigarette, and puff slender whiffs of smoke from the corners of hermouth, whilst lending increased attention to what was being debated.It was as though she were presiding over the discussion, and wouldaward the prize to the victor when it was finished. She certainlyconsidered that it became her, as a woman, to display some reserve inher opinions, and to remain calm whilst the men grew more and moreexcited. Now and then, however, in the heat of the debate, she wouldlet a word or a phrase escape her and "clench the matter" even forCharvet himself, as Gavard said. In her heart she believed herself thesuperior of all these fellows. The only one of them for whom she feltany respect was Robine, and she would thoughtfully contemplate hissilent bearing.Neither Florent nor any of the others paid any special attention toClemence. They treated her just as though she were a man, shakinghands with her so roughly as almost to dislocate her arms. One eveningFlorent witnessed the periodical settlement of accounts between herand Charvet. She had just received her pay, and Charvet wanted toborrow ten francs from her; but she first of all insisted that theymust reckon up how matters stood between them. They lived together ina voluntary partnership, each having complete control of his or herearnings, and strictly paying his or her expenses. By so doing, saidthey, they were under no obligations to one another, but retainedentire freedom. Rent, food, washing, and amusements, were all noteddown and added up. That evening, when the accounts had been verified,Clemence proved to Charvet that he already owed her five francs. Thenshe handed him the other ten which he wished to borrow, and exclaimed:"Recollect that you now owe me fifteen. I shall expect you to repay meon the fifth, when you get paid for teaching little Lehudier."When Rose was summoned to receive payment for the "drinks," eachproduced the few coppers required to discharge his or her liability.Charvet laughingly called Clemence an aristocrat because she drankgrog. She wanted to humiliate him, said he, and make him feel that heearned less than she did, which, as it happened, was the fact. Beneathhis laugh, however, there was a feeling of bitterness that the girlshould be better circumstanced than himself, for, in spite of histheory of the equality of the sexes, this lowered him.Although the discussions in the little room had virtually no result,they served to exercise the speakers' lungs. A tremendous hubbubproceeded from the sanctum, and the panes of frosted glass vibratedlike drum-skins. Sometimes the uproar became so great that Rose, whilelanguidly serving some blouse-wearing customer in the shop, would turnher head uneasily."Why, they're surely fighting together in there," the customer wouldsay, as he put his glass down on the zinc-covered counter, and wipedhis mouth with the back of his hand."Oh, there's no fear of that," Monsieur Lebigre tranquilly replied."It's only some gentlemen talking together."Monsieur Lebigre, indeed, although very strict with his othercustomers, allowed the politicians to shout as loudly as they pleased,and never made the least remark on the subject. He would sit for hourstogether on the bench behind the counter, with his big head lollingdrowsily against the mirror, whilst he watched Rose uncorking thebottles and giving a wipe here and there with her duster. And in spiteof the somniferous effects of the wine fumes and the warm streaminggaslight, he would keep his ears open to the sounds proceeding fromthe little room. At times, when the voices grew noisier than usual, hegot up from his seat and went to lean against the partition; andoccasionally he even pushed the door open, and went inside and satdown there for a few minutes, giving Gavard a friendly slap on thethigh. And then he would nod approval of everything that was said. Thepoultry dealer asserted that although friend Lebigre hadn't the stuffof an orator in him, they might safely reckon on him when the "shindy"came.One morning, however, at the markets, when a tremendous row broke outbetween Rose and one of the fish-wives, through the formeraccidentally knocking over a basket of herrings, Florent heard Rose'semployer spoken of as a "dirty spy" in the pay of the police. Andafter he had succeeded in restoring peace, all sorts of stories aboutMonsieur Lebigre were poured into his ears. Yes, the wine seller wasin the pay of the police, the fish-wives said; all the neighbourhoodknew it. Before Mademoiselle Saget had begun to deal with him she hadonce met him entering the Prefecture to make his report. It wasasserted, too, that he was a money-monger, a usurer, and lent pettysums by the day to costermongers, and let out barrows to them,exacting a scandalous rate of interest in return. Florent was greatlydisturbed by all this, and felt it his duty to repeat it that eveningto his fellow politicians. The latter, however, only shrugged theirshoulders, and laughed at his uneasiness."Poor Florent!" Charvet exclaimed sarcastically; "he imagines thewhole police force is on his track, just because he happens to havebeen sent to Cayenne!"Gavard gave his word of honour that Lebigre was perfectly staunch andtrue, while Logre, for his part, manifested extreme irritation. Hefumed and declared that it would be quite impossible for them to geton if everyone was to be accused of being a police spy; for his ownpart, he would rather stay at home, and have nothing more to do withpolitics. Why, hadn't people even dared to say that he, Logre himself,who had fought in '48 and '51, and had twice narrowly escapedtransportation, was a spy as well? As he shouted this out, he thrusthis jaws forward, and glared at the others as though he would haveliked to ram the conviction that he had nothing to do with the policedown their throats. At the sight of his furious glances his companionsmade gestures of protestation. However, Lacaille, on hearing MonsieurLebigre accused of usury, silently lowered his head.The incident was forgotten in the discussions which ensued. SinceLogre had suggested a conspiracy, Monsieur Lebigre had grasped thehands of the frequenters of the little room with more vigor than ever.Their custom, to tell the truth, was of but small value to him, forthey never ordered more than one "drink" apiece. They drained the lastdrops just as they rose to leave, having been careful to allow alittle to remain in their glasses, even during their most heatedarguments. In this wise the one "shout" lasted throughout the evening.They shivered as they turned out into the cold dampness of the night,and for a moment or two remained standing on the footway with dazzledeyes and buzzing ears, as though surprised by the dark silence of thestreet. Rose, meanwhile, fastened the shutters behind them. Then,quite exhausted, at a loss for another word they shook hands,separated, and went their different ways, still mentally continuingthe discussion of the evening, and regretting that they could not ramtheir particular theories down each other's throats. Robine walkedaway, with his bent back bobbing up and down, in the direction of theRue Rambuteau; whilst Charvet and Clemence went off through themarkets on their return to the Luxembourg quarter, their heelssounding on the flag-stones in military fashion, whilst they stilldiscussed some question of politics or philosophy, walking along sideby side, but never arm-in-arm.The conspiracy ripened very slowly. At the commencement of the summerthe plotters had got no further than agreeing that it was necessary astroke should be attempted. Florent, who had at first looked upon thewhole business with a kind of distrust, had now, however, come tobelieve in the possibility of a revolutionary movement. He took up thematter seriously; making notes, and preparing plans in writing, whilethe others still did nothing but talk. For his part, he began toconcentrate his whole life in the one persistent idea which made hisbrain throb night after night; and this to such a degree that he atlast took his brother Quenu with him to Monsieur Lebigre's, as thoughsuch a course were quite natural. Certainly he had no thought of doinganything improper. He still looked upon Quenu as in some degree hispupil, and may even have considered it his duty to start him on theproper path. Quenu was an absolute novice in politics, but afterspending five or six evenings in the little room he found himselfquite in accord with the others. When Lisa was not present hemanifested much docility, a sort of respect for his brother'sopinions. But the greatest charm of the affair for him was really themild dissipation of leaving his shop and shutting himself up in thelittle room where the others shouted so loudly, and where Clemence'spresence, in his opinion, gave a tinge of rakishness and romance tothe proceedings. He now made all haste with his chitterlings in orderthat he might get away as early as possible, anxious to lose not asingle word of the discussions, which seemed to him to be verybrilliant, though he was not always able to follow them. The beautifulLisa did not fail to notice his hurry to be gone, but as yet sherefrained from saying anything. When Florent took him off, she simplywent to the door-step, and watched them enter Monsieur Lebigre's, herface paling somewhat, and a severe expression coming into her eyes.One evening, as Mademoiselle Saget was peering out of her garretcasement, she recognised Quenu's shadow on the frosted glass of the"cabinet" window facing the Rue Pirouette. She had found her casementan excellent post of observation, as it overlooked that milkytransparency, on which the gaslight threw silhouettes of thepoliticians, with noses suddenly appearing and disappearing, gapingjaws abruptly springing into sight and then vanishing, and huge arms,apparently destitute of bodies, waving hither and thither. Thisextraordinary jumble of detached limbs, these silent but franticprofiles, bore witness to the heated discussions that went on in thelittle room, and kept the old maid peering from behind her muslincurtains until the transparency turned black. She shrewdly suspectedsome "bit of trickery," as she phrased it. By continual watching shehad come to recognise the different shadows by their hands and hairand clothes. As she gazed upon the chaos of clenched fists, angryheads, and swaying shoulders, which seemed to have become detachedfrom their trunks and to roll about one atop of the other, she wouldexclaim unhesitatingly, "Ah, there's that big booby of a cousin;there's that miserly old Gavard; and there's the hunchback; andthere's that maypole of a Clemence!" Then, when the action of theshadow-play became more pronounced, and they all seemed to have lostcontrol over themselves, she felt an irresistible impulse to godownstairs to try to find out what was happening. Thus she now made apoint of buying her black-currant syrup at nights, pretending that shefelt out-of-sorts in the morning, and was obliged to take a sip assoon as ever she was out of bed. On the evening when she noticedQuenu's massive head shadowed on the transparency in close proximityto Charvet's fist, she made her appearance at Monsieur Lebigre's in abreathless condition. To gain more time, she made Rose rinse out herlittle bottle for her; however, she was about to return to her roomwhen she heard the pork butcher exclaim with a sort of childishcandour:"No, indeed, we'll stand for it no longer! We'll make a clean sweep ofall those humbugging Deputies and Ministers! Yes, we'll send the wholelot packing."Eight o'clock had scarcely struck on the following morning whenMademoiselle Saget was already at the pork shop. She found MadameLecoeur and La Sarriette there, dipping their noses into the heating-pan, and buying hot sausages for breakfast. As the old maid hadmanaged to draw them into her quarrel with La Normande with respect tothe ten-sou dab, they had at once made friends again with Lisa, andthey now had nothing but contempt for the handsome fish-girl, andassailed her and her sister as good-for-nothing hussies, whose onlyaim was to fleece men of their money. This opinion had been inspiredby the assertions of Mademoiselle Saget, who had declared to MadameLecoeur that Florent had induced one of the two girls to coquette withGavard, and that the four of them had indulged in the wildestdissipation at Barratte's--of course, at the poultry dealer's expense.From the effects of this impudent story Madame Lecoeur had not yetrecovered; she wore a doleful appearance, and her eyes were quiteyellow with spleen.That morning, however, it was for Madame Quenu that the old maid had ashock in store. She looked round the counter, and then in her mostgentle voice remarked:"I saw Monsieur Quenu last night. They seem to enjoy themselvesimmensely in that little room at Lebigre's, if one may judge from thenoise they make."Lisa had turned her head towards the street, listening veryattentively, but apparently unwilling to show it. The old maid paused,hoping that one of the others would question her; and then, in a lowertone, she added: "They had a woman with them. Oh, I don't meanMonsieur Quenu, of course! I didn't say that; I don't know--""It must be Clemence," interrupted La Sarriette; "a big scraggycreature who gives herself all sorts of airs just because she went toboarding school. She lives with a threadbare usher. I've seen themtogether; they always look as though they were taking each other offto the police station.""Oh, yes; I know," replied the old maid, who, indeed, knew everythingabout Charvet and Clemence, and whose only purpose was to alarm Lisa.The mistress of the pork shop, however, never flinched. She seemed tobe absorbed in watching something of great interest in the marketyonder. Accordingly the old maid had recourse to stronger measures. "Ithink," said she, addressing herself to Madame Lecoeur, "that youought to advise your brother-in-law to be careful. Last night theywere shouting out the most shocking things in that little room. Menreally seem to lose their heads over politics. If anyone had heardthem, it might have been a very serious matter for them.""Oh! Gavard will go his own way," sighed Madame Lecoeur. "It onlywanted this to fill my cup. I shall die of anxiety, I am sure, if heever gets arrested."As she spoke, a gleam shot from her dim eyes. La Sarriette, however,laughed and wagged her little face, bright with the freshness of themorning air."You should hear what Jules says of those who speak against theEmpire," she remarked. "They ought all to be thrown into the Seine, hetold me; for it seems there isn't a single respectable person amongstthem.""Oh! there's no harm done, of course, so long as only people likemyself hear their foolish talk," resumed Mademoiselle Saget. "I'drather cut my hand off, you know, than make mischief. Last night now,for instance, Monsieur Quenu was saying----"She again paused. Lisa had started slightly."Monsieur Quenu was saying that the Ministers and Deputies and all whoare in power ought to be shot."At this Lisa turned sharply, her face quite white and her handsclenched beneath her apron."Quenu said that?" she curtly asked."Yes, indeed, and several other similar things that I can't recollectnow. I heard him myself. But don't distress yourself like that, MadameQuenu. You know very well that I sha'n't breathe a word. I'm quite oldenough to know what might harm a man if it came out. Oh, no; it willgo no further."Lisa had recovered her equanimity. She took a pride in the happypeacefulness of her home; she would not acknowledge that there hadever been the slightest difference between herself and her husband.And so now she shrugged her shoulders and said with a smile: "Oh, it'sall a pack of foolish nonsense."When the three others were in the street together they agreed thathandsome Lisa had pulled a very doleful face; and they wereunanimously of opinion that the mysterious goings-on of the cousin,the Mehudins, Gavard, and the Quenus would end in trouble. MadameLecoeur inquired what was done to the people who got arrested "forpolitics," but on this point Mademoiselle Saget could not enlightenher; she only knew that they were never seen again--no, never. Andthis induced La Sarriette to suggest that perhaps they were throwninto the Seine, as Jules had said they ought to be.Lisa avoided all reference to the subject at breakfast and dinner thatday; and even in the evening, when Florent and Quenu went off togetherto Monsieur Lebigre's, there was no unwonted severity in her glance.On that particular evening, however, the question of framing aconstitution for the future came under discussion, and it was oneo'clock in the morning before the politicians could tear themselvesaway from the little room. The shutters had already been fastened, andthey were obliged to leave by a small door, passing out one at a timewith bent backs. Quenu returned home with an uneasy conscience. Heopened the three or four doors on his way to bed as gently aspossible, walking on tip-toe and stretching out his hands as he passedthrough the sitting-room, to avoid a collision with any of thefurniture. The whole house seemed to be asleep. When he reached thebedroom, he was annoyed to find that Lisa had not extinguished thecandle, which was burning with a tall, mournful flame in the midst ofthe deep silence. As Quenu took off his shoes, and put them down in acorner, the time-piece struck half past one with such a clear, ringingsound that he turned in alarm, almost frightened to move, and gazingwith an expression of angry reproach at the shining gilded Gutenbergstanding there, with his finger on a book. Lisa's head was buried inher pillow, and Quenu could only see her back; but he divined that shewas merely feigning sleep, and her conduct in turning her back uponhim was so instinct with reproach that he felt sorely ill at ease. Atlast he slipped beneath the bed-clothes, blew out the candle, and layperfectly still. He could have sworn that his wife was awake, thoughshe did not speak to him; and presently he fell asleep, feelingintensely miserable, and lacking the courage to say good night.He slept till late, and when he awoke he found himself sprawling inthe middle of the bed with the eider-down quilt up to his chin, whilstLisa sat in front of the secretaire, arranging some papers. Hisslumber had been so heavy that he had not heard her rise. However, henow took courage, and spoke to her from the depths of the alcove: "Whydidn't you wake me? What are you doing there?""I'm sorting the papers in these drawers," she replied in her usualtone of voice.Quenu felt relieved. But Lisa added: "One never knows what may happen.If the police were to come--""What! the police?""Yes, indeed, the police; for you're mixing yourself up with politicsnow."At this Quenu sat up in bed, quite dazed and confounded by such aviolent and unexpected attack."I mix myself up with politics! I mix myself up with politics!" herepeated. "It's no concern of the police. I've nothing to do with anycompromising matters.""No," replied Lisa, shrugging her shoulders; "you merely talk aboutshooting everybody.""I! I!""Yes. And you bawl it out in a public-house! Mademoiselle Saget heardyou. All the neighbourhood knows by this time that you are a RedRepublican!"Quenu fell back in bed again. He was not perfectly awake as yet.Lisa's words resounded in his ears as though he already heard theheavy tramp of gendarmes at the bedroom door. He looked at her as shesat there, with her hair already arranged, her figure tightlyimprisoned in her stays, her whole appearance the same as it was onany other morning; and he felt more astonished than ever that sheshould be so neat and prim under such extraordinary circumstances."I leave you absolutely free, you know," she continued, as she went onarranging the papers. "I don't want to wear the breeches, as thesaying goes. You are the master, and you are at liberty to endangeryour position, compromise our credit, and ruin our business."Then, as Quenu tried to protest, she silenced him with a gesture. "No,no; don't say anything," she continued. "This is no quarrel, and I amnot even asking an explanation from you. But if you had consulted me,and we had talked the matter over together, I might have intervened.Ah! it's a great mistake to imagine that women understand nothingabout politics. Shall I tell you what my politics are?"She had risen from her seat whilst speaking, and was now walking toand fro between the bed and the window, wiping as she went some specksof dust from the bright mahogany of the mirrored wardrobe and thedressing-table."My politics are the politics of honest folks," said she. "I'mgrateful to the Government when business is prosperous, when I can eatmy meals in peace and comfort, and can sleep at nights without beingawakened by the firing of guns. There were pretty times in '48, werethere not? You remember our uncle Gradelle, the worthy man, showing ushis books for that year? He lost more than six thousand francs. Nowthat we have got the Empire, however, everything prospers. We sell ourgoods readily enough. You can't deny it. Well, then, what is it thatyou want? How will you be better off when you have shot everybody?"She took her stand in front of the little night-table, crossed herarms over her breast, and fixed her eyes upon Quenu, who had shuffledhimself beneath the bed-clothes, almost out of sight. He attempted toexplain what it was that his friends wanted, but he got quite confusedin his endeavours to summarise Florent's and Charvet's political andsocial systems; and could only talk about the disregard shown toprinciples, the accession of the democracy to power, and theregeneration of society, in such a strange tangled way that Lisashrugged her shoulders, quite unable to understand him. At last,however, he extricated himself from his difficulties by declaring thatthe Empire was the reign of licentiousness, swindling finance, andhighway robbery. And, recalling an expression of Logre's he added: "Weare the prey of a band of adventurers, who are pillaging, violating,and assassinating France. We'll have no more of them."Lisa, however, still shrugged her shoulders."Well, and is that all you have got to say?" she asked with perfectcoolness. "What has all that got to do with me? Even supposing it weretrue, what then? Have I ever advised you to practise dishonestcourses? Have I ever prompted you to dishonour your acceptances, orcheat your customers, or pile up money by fraudulent practices?Really, you'll end by making me quite angry! We are honest folks, andwe don't pillage or assassinate anybody. That's quite sufficient. Whatother folks do is no concern of ours. If they choose to be rogues it'stheir affair."She looked quite majestic and triumphant; and again pacing the room,drawing herself up to her full height, she resumed: "A pretty notionit is that people are to let their business go to rack and ruin justto please those who are penniless. For my part, I'm in favour ofmaking hay while the sun shines, and supporting a Government whichpromotes trade. If it does do dishonourable things, I prefer to knownothing about them. I know that I myself commit none, and that no onein the neighbourhood can point a finger at me. It's only fools who gotilting at windmills. At the time of the last elections, you remember,Gavard said that the Emperor's candidate had been bankrupt, and wasmixed up in all sorts of scandalous matters. Well, perhaps that wastrue, I don't deny it; but all the same, you acted wisely in votingfor him, for all that was not in question; you were not asked to lendthe man any money or to transact any business with him, but merely toshow the Government that you were pleased with the prosperity of thepork trade."At this moment Quenu called to mind a sentence of Charvet's, assertingthat "the bloated bourgeois, the sleek shopkeepers, who backed up thatGovernment of universal gormandising, ought to be hurled into thesewers before all others, for it was owing to them and theirgluttonous egotism that tyranny had succeeded in mastering and preyingupon the nation." He was trying to complete this piece of eloquencewhen Lisa, carried off by her indignation, cut him short."Don't talk such stuff! My conscience doesn't reproach me withanything. I don't owe a copper to anybody; I'm not mixed up in anydishonest business; I buy and sell good sound stuff; and I charge nomore than others do. What you say may perhaps apply to people like ourcousins, the Saccards. They pretend to be even ignorant that I am inParis; but I am prouder than they are, and I don't care a rap fortheir millions. It's said that Saccard speculates in condemnedbuildings, and cheats and robs everybody. I'm not surprised to hearit, for he was always that way inclined. He loves money just for thesake of wallowing in it, and then tossing it out of his windows, likethe imbecile he is. I can understand people attacking men of hisstamp, who pile up excessive fortunes. For my part, if you care toknow it, I have but a bad opinion of Saccard. But we--we who live soquietly and peaceably, who will need at least fifteen years to put bysufficient money to make ourselves comfortably independent, we whohave no reason to meddle in politics, and whose only aim is to bringup our daughter respectably, and to see that our business prospers--why you must be joking to talk such stuff about us. We are honestfolks!"She came and sat down on the edge of the bed. Quenu was already muchshaken in his opinions."Listen to me, now," she resumed in a more serious voice. "You surelydon't want to see your own shop pillaged, your cellar emptied, andyour money taken from you? If these men who meet at Monsieur Lebigre'sshould prove triumphant, do you think that you would then lie ascomfortably in your bed as you do now? And on going down into thekitchen, do you imagine that you would set about making yourgalantines as peacefully as you will presently? No, no, indeed! So whydo you talk about overthrowing a Government which protects you, andenables you to put money by? You have a wife and a daughter, and yourfirst duty is towards them. You would be in fault if you imperilledtheir happiness. It is only those who have neither home nor hearth,who have nothing to lose, who want to be shooting people. Surely youdon't want to pull the chestnuts out of the fire for them! So stayquietly at home, you foolish fellow, sleep comfortably, eat well, makemoney, keep an easy conscience, and leave France to free herself ofthe Empire if the Empire annoys her. France can get on very wellwithout you."She laughed her bright melodious laugh as she finished; and Quenu wasnow altogether convinced. Yes, she was right, after all; and shelooked so charming, he thought, as she sat there on the edge of thebed, so trim, although it was so early, so bright, and so fresh in thedazzling whiteness of her linen. As he listened to her his eyes fellon their portraits hanging on either side of the fireplace. Yes, theywere certainly honest folks; they had such a respectable, well-to-doair in their black clothes and their gilded frames! The bedroom, too,looked as though it belonged to people of some account in the world.The lace squares seemed to give a dignified appearance to the chairs;and the carpet, the curtains, and the vases decorated with paintedlandscapes--all spoke of their exertions to get on in the world andtheir taste for comfort. Thereupon he plunged yet further beneath theeider-down quilt, which kept him in a state of pleasant warmth. Hebegan to feel that he had risked losing all these things at MonsieurLebigre's--his huge bed, his cosy room, and his business, on which histhoughts now dwelt with tender remorse. And from Lisa, from thefurniture, from all his cosy surroundings, he derived a sense ofcomfort which thrilled him with a delightful, overpowering charm."You foolish fellow!" said his wife, seeing that he was now quiteconquered. "A pretty business it was that you'd embarked upon; butyou'd have had to reckon with Pauline and me, I can tell you! And nowdon't bother your head any more about the Government. To begin with,all Governments are alike, and if we didn't have this one, we shouldhave another. A Government is necessary. But the one thing is to beable to live on, to spend one's savings in peace and comfort when onegrows old, and to know that one has gained one's means honestly."Quenu nodded his head in acquiescence, and tried to commence ajustification of his conduct."It was Gavard--," he began.But Lisa's face again assumed a serious expression, and sheinterrupted him sharply."No, it was not Gavard. I know very well who it was; and it would be agreat deal better if he would look after his own safety beforecompromising that of others.""Is it Florent you mean?" Quenu timidly inquired after a pause.Lisa did not immediately reply. She got up and went back to thesecretaire, as if trying to restrain herself."Yes, it is Florent," she said presently, in incisive tones. "You knowhow patient I am. I would bear almost anything rather than comebetween you and your brother. The tie of relationship is a sacredthing. But the cup is filled to overflowing now. Since your brothercame here things have been constantly getting worse and worse. Butnow, I won't say anything more; it is better that I shouldn't."There was another pause. Then, as her husband gazed up at the ceilingwith an air of embarrassment, she continued, with increased violence:"Really, he seems to ignore all that we have done for him. We have putourselves to great inconvenience for his sake; we have given himAugustine's bedroom, and the poor girl sleeps without a murmur in astuffy little closet where she can scarcely breathe. We board andlodge him and give him every attention--but no, he takes it all quiteas a matter of course. He is earning money, but what he does with itnobody knows; or, rather, one knows only too well.""But there's his share of the inheritance, you know," Quenu venturedto say, pained at hearing his brother attacked.Lisa suddenly stiffened herself as though she were stunned, and heranger vanished."Yes, you are right; there is his share of the inheritance. Here isthe statement of it, in this drawer. But he refused to take it; youremember, you were present, and heard him. That only proves that he isa brainless, worthless fellow. If he had had an idea in his head, hewould have made something out of that money by now. For my own part, Ishould be very glad to get rid of it; it would be a relief to us. Ihave told him so twice, but he won't listen to me. You ought topersuade him to take it. Talk to him about it, will you?"Quenu growled something in reply; and Lisa refrained from pressing thepoint further, being of opinion that she had done all that could beexpected of her."He is not like other men," she resumed. "He's not a comfortable sortof person to have in the house. I shouldn't have said this if wehadn't got talking on the subject. I don't busy myself about hisconduct, though it's setting the whole neighbourhood gossiping aboutus. Let him eat and sleep here, and put us about, if he likes; we canget over that; but what I won't tolerate is that he should involve usin his politics. If he tries to lead you off again, or compromises usin the least degree, I shall turn him out of the house without theleast hesitation. I warn you, and now you understand!"Florent was doomed. Lisa was making a great effort to restrainherself, to prevent the animosity which had long been rankling in herheart from flowing forth. But Florent and his ways jarred against herevery instinct; he wounded her, frightened her, and made her quitemiserable."A man who has made such a discreditable career," she murmured, "whohas never been able to get a roof of his own over his head! I can verywell understand his partiality for bullets! He can go and stand intheir way if he chooses; but let him leave honest folks to theirfamilies! And then, he isn't pleasant to have about one! He reeks offish in the evening at dinner! It prevents me from eating. He himselfnever lets a mouthful go past him, though it's little better he seemsto be for it all! He can't even grow decently stout, the wretchedfellow, to such a degree do his bad instincts prey on him!"She had stepped up to the window whilst speaking, and now saw Florentcrossing the Rue Rambuteau on his way to the fish market. There was avery large arrival of fish that morning; the tray-like baskets werecovered with rippling silver, and the auction rooms roared with thehubbub of their sales. Lisa kept her eyes on the bony shoulders of herbrother-in-law as he made his way into the pungent smells of themarket, stooping beneath the sickening sensation which they broughthim; and the glance with which she followed his steps was that of awoman bent on combat and resolved to be victorious.When she turned round again, Quenu was getting up. As he sat on theedge of the bed in his night-shirt, still warm from the pleasant heatof the eider-down quilt and with his feet resting on the soft fluffyrug below him, he looked quite pale, quite distressed at themisunderstanding between his wife and his brother. Lisa, however, gavehim one of her sweetest smiles, and he felt deeply touched when shehanded him his socks.