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Updated: September 21, 2025
On another evening she was much puzzled by the sight of endless lengths of some material or other, and came to the conclusion that the men must be manufacturing cartridges. This greatly alarmed her, and her next budget of news was one of decisive gravity. "I don't want to alarm you, Madame Quenu," she said, "but matters are really looking very serious. Upon my word, I'm quite alarmed.
Gavard advised them to conceal the "outlaw," as he somewhat pompously called Florent. Lisa, who looked pale, and more serious than was her wont, at last took him to the fifth floor, where she gave him the room belonging to the girl who assisted her in the shop. Quenu had cut some slices of bread and ham, but Florent was scarcely able to eat.
"They have found that scamp of a Marjolin in the cellar, with his head split open," exclaimed the old maid. "Won't you come to see him, Madame Quenu?" Lisa crossed the road to look at him. The young fellow was lying on his back on the stretcher, looking very pale. His eyes were closed, and a stiff wisp of his fair hair was clotted with blood.
Florent sometimes ventured to show himself, and shook hands with his brother, while Lisa observed a frigid silence. He even dined with them sometimes on Sundays, at long intervals, and Quenu then made great efforts at gaiety, but could not succeed in imparting any cheerfulness to the meal. He ate badly, and ended by feeling altogether put out.
Quenu came for a moment on to the footway, yawning slightly, and ridding himself of all sleepiness in the fresh morning air. There was nothing to indicate the drama that was in preparation upstairs. The commissary himself, however, gave the alarm to the neighbourhood by paying a domiciliary visit to the Mehudins' abode in the Rue Pirouette. He was in possession of the most precise information.
"You've been a long time," Quenu said to her. "I can't find Gavard. I have looked for him everywhere," she quietly replied. "We shall have to eat our leg of mutton without him." Then she filled the lard pot, which she noticed was empty; and cut some pork chops for her friend Madame Taboureau, who had sent her little servant for them.
She thereupon puffed herself out more than ever, sent Quenu off to the refreshment bar for a box of caramels, and began to play with her fan, a mother-of-pearl fan, elaborately gilt. The fish-girl was quite crushed; and bent her head down to listen to her mother, who was whispering to her.
Quenu, however, showed some signs of emotion, and exclaimed: "Don't think of putting yourself about; take your meals elsewhere by all means, if it is more convenient. It isn't we who are turning you way; you'll at all events dine with us sometimes on Sundays, eh?" Florent hurried off. His heart was very heavy.
She spoke the last words very incisively. Quenu bent his head, as if awaiting sentence. "To begin with," continued Lisa, "he shall cease to take his meals here. It will be quite sufficient if we give him a bed. He is earning money; let him feed himself." Quenu seemed on the point of protesting, but his wife silenced him by adding energetically: "Make your choice between him and me.
In imagination the others could picture those swarming, ravenous crabs crawling all over the kitchen, and mingling gruesome odours with the aroma of the bacon-fat and onions. "Give me the blood," cried Quenu, who had not been following the story.
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