by his vices.

They still lingered at table, and night was falling when they escorted
Mahoudeau to his own door. Claude and Christine, on reaching home, took
Jacques from the doorkeeper, and found the studio quite chilly, wrapped
in such dense gloom that they had to grope about for several minutes
before they were able to light the lamp. They also had to light the
stove again, and it struck seven o'clock before they were able to draw
breath at their ease. They were not hungry, so they merely finished the
remains of some boiled beef, mainly by way of encouraging the child to
eat his soup; and when they had put him to bed, they settled themselves
with the lamp betwixt them, as was their habit every evening.

However, Christine had not put out any work, she felt too much moved to
sew. She sat there with her hands resting idly on the table, looking at
Claude, who on his side had at once become absorbed in a sketch, a
bit of his picture, some workmen of the Port Saint Nicolas, unloading
plaster. Invincible dreaminess came over the young woman, all sorts of
recollections and regrets became apparent in the depths of her dim
eyes; and by degrees growing sadness, great mute grief took absolute
possession of her, amid the indifference, the boundless solitude into
which she seemed to be drifting, although she was so near to Claude. He
was, indeed, on the other side of the table, yet how far away she felt
him to be! He was yonder before that point of the Cite, he was even
farther still, in the infinite inaccessible regions of art; so far,
indeed, that she would now never more be able to join him! She several
times tried to start a conversation, but without eliciting any answer.
The hours went by, she grew weary and numb with doing nothing, and she
ended by taking out her purse and counting her money.

'Do you know how much we have to begin our married life with?'

Claude did not even raise his head.

'We've nine sous. Ah! talk of poverty--'

He shrugged his shoulders, and finally growled: 'We shall be rich some
day; don't fret.'

Then the silence fell again, and she did not even attempt to break it,
but gazed at her nine coppers laid in a row upon the table. At last, as
it struck midnight, she shivered, ill with waiting and chilled by the
cold.

'Let's go to bed, dear,' she murmured; 'I'm dead tired.'

He, however, was working frantically, and did not even hear her.

'The fire's gone out,' she began again, 'we shall mak