Page 3 of Le ventre de Paris. English

  CHAPTER II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Good night, Mademoiselle Lisa."

  "Good night, Monsieur Quenu."

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

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

  "Good night, Mademoiselle Lisa."

  "Good night, Monsieur Quenu."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  [*] See M. Zola's novel, _Money_.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  She showed him the figures on the sheet of paper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Yes, Madame Lisa."

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

  "Yes, Madame Lisa."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "The old she-goat!" growled Gavard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Then she left the shop and ran across the road.

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

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

  "I have my reasons," Florent replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "The inspectorship."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  [*] Gervaise, the heroine of the _Assommoir_.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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