apprentice, Florent could not settle down to work again; he went off to
bed in a discontented mood, and did not recover his equilibrium till
the thought passed through his mind, "Why, that Auguste is a perfect
animal!"

Every month he went to Clamart to see Monsieur Verlaque. These visits
were almost a delight to him. The poor man still lingered on, to the
great astonishment of Gavard, who had not expected him to last for more
than six months. Every time that Florent went to see him Verlaque would
declare that he was feeling better, and was most anxious to resume his
work again. But the days glided by, and he had serious relapses. Florent
would sit by his bedside, chat about the fish market, and do what he
could to enliven him. He deposited on the pedestal table the fifty
francs which he surrendered to him each month; and the old inspector,
though the payment had been agreed upon, invariably protested, and
seemed disinclined to take the money. Then they would begin to speak of
something else, and the coins remained lying on the table. When Florent
went away, Madame Verlaque always accompanied him to the street door.
She was a gentle little woman, of a very tearful disposition. Her one
topic of conversation was the expense necessitated by her husband's
illness, the costliness of chicken broth, butcher's meat, Bordeaux
wine, medicine, and doctors' fees. Her doleful conversation greatly
embarrassed Florent, and on the first few occasions he did not
understand the drift of it. But at last, as the poor woman seemed always
in a state of tears, and kept saying how happy and comfortable they had
been when they had enjoyed the full salary of eighteen hundred francs
a year, he timidly offered to make her a private allowance, to be
kept secret from her husband. This offer, however, she declined,
inconsistently declaring that the fifty francs were sufficient. But in
the course of the month she frequently wrote to Florent, calling