"You'll wait till we have breakfast, won't you?" asked Quenu. "We have
it early, at ten o'clock."

A penetrating odour of cookery pervaded the place; and Florent looked
back upon the terrible night which he had just spent, his arrival
amongst the vegetables, his agony in the midst of the markets, the
endless avalanches of food from which he had just escaped. And then in a
low tone and with a gentle smile he responded:

"No; I'm really very hungry, you see."



CHAPTER II

Florent had just begun to study law in Paris when his mother died. She
lived at Le Vigan, in the department of the Gard, and had taken for
her second husband one Quenu, a native of Yvetot in Normandy, whom some
sub-prefect had transplanted to the south and then forgotten there. He
had remained in employment at the sub-prefecture, finding the country
charming, the wine good, and the women very amiable. Three years after
his 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. It
was only with very great difficulty that the widow could pay the college
fees of Florent, her elder son, the issue of her first marriage. He
was a very gentle youth, devoted to his studies, and constantly won the
chief prizes at school. It was upon him that his mother lavished all her
affection and based all her hopes. Perhaps, in bestowing so much love on
this slim pale youth, she was giving evidence of her preference for her
first husband, a tender-hearted, caressing Provencal, who had loved