was met by a
sickening smell of dirty, poverty-stricken humanity, an atmosphere of
naked flesh (far more revolting than the odour of fur or the skin of
wild beasts). There, in a sort of basement, low and dark, like a
gallery in a mine, Pierre could discern some hundreds of men, women, and
children, stretched on shelves fixed one above another, or lying on the
floor in heaps. He could not see their faces, but could dimly make out
this squalid, ragged crowd of wretches, beaten in the struggle for
life, worn out and crushed, setting forth, each with a starving wife and
weakly children, for an unknown land where they hoped, perhaps, not to
die of hunger. And as he thought of their past labour--wasted labour,
and barren effort--of the mortal struggle taken up afresh and in vain
each day, of the energy expended by this tattered crew who were going to
begin again, not knowing where, this life of hideous misery, he longed
to cry out to them:

"Tumble yourselves overboard, rather, with your women and your little
ones." And his heart ached so with pity that he went away unable to
endure the sight.

He found his father, his mother, Jean, and Mme. Rosemilly waiting for
him in his cabin.

"So early!" he exclaimed.

"Yes," said Mme. Roland in a trembling voice. "We wanted to have a
little time to see you."

He looked at her. She was dressed all in black as if she were in
mourning, and he noticed that her hair, which only a month ago had been
gray, was now almost white. It was very difficult to find space for four
persons to sit down in the little room, and he himself got on to his
bed. The door was left open, and they could see a great crowd hurrying
by, as if it were a street on a holiday, for all the friends of the
passengers and a host of inquisitive visitors had invaded the huge
vessel. They pervaded the passages, the saloons, every corner of the
ship; and heads peered in at the doorway while a voice murmured outside:
"That is the doctor's cabin."

Then Pierre shut the door; but no sooner was he shut in with his own
party than he longed to open it again, for the bustle outside covered
their agitation and want of words.

Mme. Rosemilly at last felt she must speak.

"Very little air comes in through those little windows."

"Port-holes," said Pierre. He showed her how thick the glass was,
to enable it to resist the most violent shocks, and took a long time
explaining the fastening. Roland presently asked: "And you have