But already, at this time, M. Vincent Favoral's situation had been
singularly modified.

The revolution of 1848 had just taken place. The factory in the
Faubourg St. Antoine, where he was employed, had been compelled to
close its doors.

One evening, as he came home at the usual hour, he announced that
he had been discharged.

Mme. Favoral shuddered at the thought of what her husband might be,
without work, and deprived of his salary.

"What is to become of us?" she murmured.

He shrugged his shoulders. Visibly he was much excited. His cheeks
were flushed; his eyes sparkled.

"Bash!" he said: "we shan't starve for all that." And, as his wife
was gazing at him in astonishment:

"Well," he went on, "what are you looking at? It is so: I know many a one
who affects to live on his income, and who are not as well off as
we are."

It was, for over six years since he was married, the first time that
he spoke of his business otherwise than to groan and complain, to
accuse fate, and curse the high price of living. The very day before,
he had declared himself ruined by the purchase of a pair of shoes
for Maxence. The change was so sudden and so great, that she hardly