him, while Gavard and Quenu congratulated him on his decision.
It was always necessary for a man to settle down, said they; the
breakneck freaks of politics did not provide one with food. And,
meantime, Lisa, standing there with the lighted candle in her hand,
looked at him with an expression of satisfaction resting on her handsome
face, placid like that of some sacred cow.

CHAPTER III

Three days later the necessary formalities were gone through, and
without demur the police authorities at the Prefecture accepted Florent
on Monsieur Verlaque's recommendation as his substitute. Gavard, by the
way, had made it a point to accompany them. When he again found himself
alone with Florent he kept nudging his ribs with his elbow as they
walked along together, and laughed, without saying anything, while
winking his eyes in a jeering way. He seemed to find something very
ridiculous in the appearance of the police officers whom they met on
the Quai de l'Horloge, for, as he passed them, he slightly shrugged his
shoulders and made the grimace of a man seeking to restrain himself from
laughing in people's faces.

On the following morning Monsieur Verlaque began to initiate the new
inspector into the duties of his office. It had been arranged that
during the next few days he should make him acquainted with the
turbulent sphere which he would have to supervise. Poor Verlaque,
as Gavard called him was a pale little man, swathed in flannels,
handkerchiefs, and mufflers. Constantly coughing, he made his way
through the cool, moist atmosphere, and running waters of the fish
market, on a pair of scraggy legs like those of a sickly child.

When Florent made his appearance on the first morning, at seven o'clock,
he felt quite distracted; his eyes were dazed, his head ached with
all the noise and riot. Retail dealers were already prowling about
the auction pavilion; clerks were arriving with their ledgers, and
consigners' agents, with leather bags slung over their shoulders, sat
on overturned chairs by the salesmen's desks, waiting to receive their
cash. Fish was being unloaded and unpacked not only in the enclosure,
but even on the footways. All along the latter were piles of small
baskets, an endless arrival of cases and hampers, and sacks of mussels,
from which streamlets of water trickled. The auctioneers' assistants,
all looking very busy, sprang over the heaps, tore away the straw at
the tops of the baskets, emptied the latter,