rooms, and when his former sufferings tormented him too much at the sight
of his bed, which was turned down, and of his solitary fireplace, he went
out into the wide passages and walked up and down them like a sentinel,
before all the closed doors, and looked sadly at the shoes standing in
couples outside them, women's little boots by the side of men's thick
ones, and he thought that, no doubt, all these people were happy, and
were sleeping in their warm beds. Five years passed thus; five miserable
years. But one day, when he was taking his usual walk between the
Madeleine and the Rue Drouot, he suddenly saw a lady whose bearing struck
him. A tall gentleman and a child were with her, and all three were
walking in front of him. He asked himself where he had seen them before,
when suddenly he recognized a movement of her hand; it was his wife, his
wife with Limousin and his child, his little George.

His heart beat as if it would suffocate him, but he did not stop, for he
wished to see them, and he followed them. They looked like a family of
the better middle class. Henriette was leaning on Paul's arm, and
speaking to him in a low voice, and looking at him sideways occasionally.
Parent got a side view of her and recognized her pretty features, the
movements of her lips, her smile, and her coaxing glances. But the child
chiefly took up his attention. How tall and strong he was! Parent could
not see his face, but only his long, fair curls. That tall boy with bare
legs, who was walking by his mother's side like a little man, was George.
He saw them suddenly, all three, as they stopped in front of a shop.
Limousin had grown very gray, had aged and was thinner; his wife, on the
contrary, was as young looking as ever, and had grown stouter. George he
would not have recognized, he was so different from what he had been
formerly.

They went on again and Parent followed them. He walked on quickly, passed