was not allowed to see him, and when he pressed the matter the police
threatened to arrest him also. Then he hastened off to his uncle
Gradelle, whom he looked upon as a person of importance, hoping that he
might be able to enlist his influence in Florent's behalf. But Gradelle
waxed wrathful, declared that Florent deserved his fate, that he ought
to have known better than to have mixed himself up with those rascally
republicans. And he even added that Florent was destined to turn out
badly, that it was written on his face.

Quenu wept copiously and remained there, almost choked by his sobs. His
uncle, a little ashamed of his harshness, and feeling that he ought to
do something for him, offered to receive him into his house. He wanted
an assistant, and knew that his nephew was a good cook. Quenu was so
much alarmed by the mere thought of going back to live alone in the
big room in the Rue Royer Collard, that then and there he accepted
Gradelle's offer. That same night he slept in his uncle's house, in
a dark hole of a garret just under the room, where there was scarcely
space for him to lie at full length. However, he was less wretched there
than he would have been opposite his brother's empty couch.

He succeeded at length in obtaining permission to see Florent; but on
his return from Bicetre he was obliged to take to his bed. For nearly
three weeks he lay fever-stricken, in a stupefied, comatose state.
Gradelle meantime called down all sorts of maledictions on his
republican nephew; and one morning, when he heard of Florent's departure
for Cayenne, he went upstairs, tapped Quenu on the hands, awoke him, and
bluntly told him the news, thereby bringing about such a reaction that
on the following day the young man was up and about again. His grief
wore itself out, and his soft flabby flesh seemed to absorb his tears.
A month later he laughed again, and then grew vexed and unhappy with