her embrace, with its legs dangling downwards; and she now squeezed
it tightly with her little arms, as if she were afraid that yonder
shabby-looking gentleman might rob her of it.

Lisa, however, leisurely made her appearance.

"Here is my brother Florent!" exclaimed Quenu.

Lisa addressed him as "Monsieur," and gave him a kindly welcome. She
scanned him quietly from head to foot, without evincing any disagreeable
surprise. Merely a faint pout appeared for a moment on her lips. Then,
standing by, she began to smile at her husband's demonstrations of
affection. Quenu, however, at last recovered his calmness, and noticing
Florent's fleshless, poverty-stricken appearance, exclaimed: "Ah, my
poor fellow, you haven't improved in your looks since you were over
yonder. For my part, I've grown fat; but what would you have!"

He had indeed grown fat, too fat for his thirty years. He seemed to be
bursting through his shirt and apron, through all the snowy-white linen
in which he was swathed like a huge doll. With advancing years his
clean-shaven face had become elongated, assuming a faint resemblance to
the snout of one of those pigs amidst whose flesh his hands worked and
lived the whole day through. Florent scarcely recognised him. He had now
seated himself, and his glance turned from his brother to handsome Lisa
and little Pauline. They were all brimful of health, squarely built,
sleek, in prime condition; and in their turn they looked at Florent with
the uneasy astonishment which corpulent people feel at the sight of a
scraggy person. The very cat, whose skin was distended by fat, dilated
its yellow eyes and scrutinised him with an air of distrust.