there over a company of porters, apprentices, and gentlemen in white blouses and velvet caps.  Two curling “Newgate knockers” were glued against his temples; and to keep his neck white he had it scraped with a razor every Saturday at a hair-dresser’s in the Rue des Deux Ecus.  At the cafe he gave the tone to his associates, especially when he played billiards with studied airs and graces, showing off his figure to the best advantage.  After the game the company would begin to chat.  They were a very reactionary set, taking a delight in the doings of “society.”  For his part, Monsieur Jules read the lighter boulevardian newspapers, and knew the performers at the smaller theatres, talked familiarly of the celebrities of the day, and could always tell whether the piece first performed the previous evening had been a success or a failure.  He had a weakness, however, for politics.  His ideal man was Morny, as he curtly called him.  He read the reports of the discussions of the Corps Legislatif, and laughed with glee over the slightest words that fell from Morny’s lips.  Ah, Morny was the man to sit upon your rascally republicans!  And he would assert that only the scum detested the Emperor, for his Majesty desired that all respectable people should have a good time of it.

“I’ve been to the cafe occasionally,” Claude said to Florent.  “The young men there are vastly amusing, with their clay pipes and their talk about the Court balls!  To hear them chatter you might almost fancy they were invited to the Tuileries.  La Sarriette’s young man was making great fun of Gavard the other evening.  He called him uncle.  When La Sarriette came downstairs to look for him she was obliged to pay his bill.  It cost her six francs, for he had lost at billiards, and the drinks they had played for were owing.  And now, good night, my friend, and pleasant dreams.  If ever you become a Minister, I’ll give you some hints on the beautifying of Paris.”

Florent was obliged to relinquish the hope of making a docile disciple of Claude.  This was a source of grief to him, for, blinded though he was by his fanatical ardour, he at last grew conscious of the ever-increasing hostility which surrounded him.  Even at the Mehudins’ he now met with a colder reception:  the old woman would laugh slyly; Muche no longer obeyed him, and the beautiful Norman cast glances of hasty impatience at him, unable as she was to overcome his coldness.  At the Quenus’, too, he had lost Auguste’s friendship.  The assistant no longer came to see him in his room on the way to bed, being greatly alarmed by the reports which he heard concerning this man with whom he had previously shut himself up till midnight.  Augustine had made her lover swear that he would never again be guilty of such imprudence; however, it was Lisa who turned the young man into Florent’s determined enemy by begging him and Augustine to defer their marriage till her cousin should vacate the little bedroom at the top of the house, as she did not want