t being detained, and expressing their
horror of that endless procession of convicts. The whole of the way from
Paris to Havre the prisoners never received a mouthful of bread or a
drink of water. The officials had forgotten to give them their rations
before starting, and it was not till thirty-six hours afterwards, when
they had been stowed away in the hold of the frigate _Canada_, that they
at last broke their fast.

No, Florent had never again been free from hunger. He recalled all the
past to mind, but could not recollect a single hour of satiety. He had
become dry and withered; his stomach seemed to have shrunk; his skin
clung to his bones. And now that he was back in Paris once more, he
found it fat and sleek and flourishing, teeming with food in the midst
of the darkness. He had returned to it on a couch of vegetables; he
lingered in its midst encompassed by unknown masses of food which still
and ever increased and disquieted him. Had that happy carnival night
continued throughout those seven years, then? Once again he saw the
glittering windows on the boulevards, the laughing women, the luxurious,
greedy city which he had quitted on that far-away January night; and it
seemed to him that everything had expanded and increased in harmony
with those huge markets, whose gigantic breathing, still heavy from the
indigestion of the previous day, he now began to hear.

Old Mother Chantemesse had by this time made up her mind to buy a dozen
bunches of turnips. She put them in her apron, which she held closely
pressed to her person, thus making herself look yet more corpulent than
she was; and for some time longer she lingered there, still gossiping in
a drawling voice. When at last she went away, Madame Francois again sat
down by the side of Florent.

"Poor old Mother Chantemesse!" she said; "she must be at least
seventy-two. I can remember her buying turnips of my father when I was
a mere chit. And she hasn't a relation in the world; no one but a young
hussy whom she picked up I don't know where and who does nothing but
bring her trouble. Still, she manages to live, selling things by the
ha'p'orth and clearing her couple of francs profit a day. For my own
part, I'm sure that I could never spend my days on the foot-pavement in
this horrid Paris! And she hasn't even any relations here!"

"You have some relations in Paris, I suppose?" she asked presently,
seeing that Florent seemed disinclined to talk.

Florent did not