And in spite of himself, and by instinct, Parent went in the direction of the broad, well-lighted, populous streets.  The light and the crowd attracted him, occupied his mind and distracted his thoughts, and when he was tired of walking aimlessly about amongst the moving crowd, when he saw the foot passengers becoming more scarce, and the pavements less crowded, the fear of solitude and silence drove him into some large cafe full of drinkers and of light.  He went there like flies go to a candle, and he used to sit down at one of the little round tables, and ask for a bock[1], which he used to drink slowly, feeling uneasy every time that a customer got up to go.  He would have liked to take him by the arm, hold him back and beg him to stay a little longer, so much did he dread the time when the waiter would come up to him and say angrily:  “Come, Monsieur, it is closing time!”

[Footnote 1:  Glass of Bavarian beer]

For every evening he stopped last.  He saw them carry in the tables, turn out the gas jets one by one, except his and that at the counter.  He looked unhappily at the cashier counting the money and locking it up in the drawer, and then he went, being usually pushed out by the waiters, who murmured:  “Another one who has too much!  One might think he had no place to sleep in.”

As soon as he was alone in the dark street, he began to think of George again, and to rack his brains in trying to discover whether or not he was this child’s father.

He thus became in the habit of going to the beer houses, where the continual elbowing of the drinkers brings you in contact with a familiar and silent public, where the heavy clouds of tobacco smoke lulls disquietude, while the heavy beer dulls the mind and calms the heart.  He almost lived there.  He was scarcely up, before he went there to find people to occupy his looks and his thoughts, and soon, as he felt too idle to move, he took his meals there.  About twelve o’clock he used to rap on the marble table, and the waiter quickly brought a plate, a glass, a table napkin, and his lunch when he had ordered it.  When he had done, he slowly drank his cup of black coffee, with his eyes fixed on the decanter of brandy, which would soon procure him an hour or two of forgetfulness.  First of all he dipped his lips into the cognac, as if to get the flavor of it with the tip of his tongue.  Then he threw his head back and poured it into his mouth, drop by drop, and turned the strong liquor over on his palate, his gums and the mucous membrane of his cheeks, and then he swallowed it slowly, and felt it going down his throat, and into his stomach.