out springs, rolled
from one side to the other and his head oscillated on his shoulders,
as if the muse of his neck were broken. He thought of Widow Lerouge. He
recalled her as she was when he went with his father to La Jonchere. It
was in the spring-time; and the hawthorn blossoms scented the air.
The old woman, in a white cap, stood at her garden gate: she spoke
beseechingly. The count looked sternly at her as he listened, then,
taking some gold from his purse, he gave it to her.

On arriving at their destination they lifted him out of the cab, the
same way as they had lifted him in at starting.

During the formality of entering his name in the jail-book in the dingy,
stinking record office, and whilst replying mechanically to everything,
he gave himself up with delight to recollections of Claire. He went back
to the time of the early days of their love, when he doubted whether he
would ever have the happiness of being loved by her in return; when they
used to meet at Mademoiselle Goello's.

This old maid had a house on the left bank of the Seine furnished in
the most eccentric manner. On all the dining-room furniture, and on the
mantel-piece, were placed a dozen or fifteen stuffed dogs, of various
breeds, which together or successively had helped to cheer the maiden's
lonely hours. She loved to relate stories of these pets whose affection
had never failed her. Some were grotesque, others horrible. One
especially, outrageously stuffed seemed ready to burst. How many times
he and Claire had laughed at it until the tears came!

The officials next began to search him. This crowning humiliation, these
rough hands passing all over his body brought him somewhat to himself,
and roused his anger. But it was already over; and they at once dragged
him along the dark corridors, over the filthy, slippery floor. They
opened a door, and pushed him into a small cell. He then heard them lock
and bolt the door.

He was a prisoner, and, in accordance with special orders, in solitary
confinement. He immediately felt a marked sensation of comfort. He was
alone.

No more stifled whispers, harsh voices, implacable questions, sounded
in his ears. A profound silence reigned around. It seemed to him that he
had forever escaped from society; and he rejoiced at it. He would have
felt relieved, had this even been the silence of the grave. His body,
as well as his mind, was weighed down with weariness. He wanted to
sit down, when he percei