oats; and, as
he was as thin as his brother was fat, these ragged garments had a most
extraordinary appearance upon him. She also turned her oldest linen over
to him: pocket-handkerchiefs which had been darned a score of times,
ragged towels, sheets which were only fit to be cut up into dusters and
dish-cloths, and worn-out shirts, distended by Quenu's corpulent
figure, and so short that they would have served Florent as under-vests.
Moreover, he no longer found around him the same good-natured kindliness
as in the earlier days. The whole household seemed to shrug its
shoulders after the example set by handsome Lisa. Auguste and Augustine
turned their backs upon him, and little Pauline, with the cruel
frankness of childhood, let fall some bitter remarks about the stains
on his coat and the holes in his shirt. However, during the last days he
suffered most at table. He scarcely dared to eat, as he saw the mother
and daughter fix their gaze upon him whenever he cut himself a piece of
bread. Quenu meantime peered into his plate, to avoid having to take any
part in what went on.

That which most tortured Florent was his inability to invent a reason
for leaving the house. During a week he kept on revolving in his mind a
sentence expressing his resolve to take his meals elsewhere, but could
not bring himself to utter it. Indeed, this man of tender nature lived
in such a world of illusions that he feared he might hurt his brother
and sister-in-law by ceasing to lunch and dine with them. It had taken
him over two months to detect Lisa's latent hostility; and even now he
was sometimes inclined to think that he must be mistaken, and that
she was in reality kindly disposed towards him. Unselfishness with
him extended to forgetfulness of his requirements; it was no longer
a virtue, but utter indifference to self, an absolute obliteration of
personality. Even when he recognised that he was being gradually turned
out of the house, his mind never for a moment dwelt upon his share in
old Gradelle's fortune, or upon the accounts which Lisa had offered him.
He had already planned out his expenditure for the future; reckoning
that with what Madame Verlaque still allowed him to retain of his
salary, and the thirty francs a month which a pupil, obtained through
La Normande, paid him he would be able to spend eighteen sous on his
breakfast and twenty-six sous on his dinner. This, he thought, would be
ample. And so, at last, taking as his exc