The same scene took place daily between this man old before his time (he was only thirty-six) and the boy of twenty, who looked at the most seventeen. The feeling was more like that of father and son than one brother to another; everything created a bond of union between them--the very toil they endured together, the fact of sleeping in the same quarters and taking exercise in the same courtyard. They were happy, for were they not all the world to each other? The inspector of the workshop was so hated by the prisoners that he often had recourse to Claude Gueux to enforce his authority; and when a tumult was on the point of breaking out, a few words from Claude had more effect than the authority of ten wardens. Although the inspector was glad to avail himself of this influence, he was jealous all the same, and hated the superior prisoner with an envious and implacable feeling--an example of might over right, all the more fearful as it was secretly nourished. But Claude cared so much for Albin that he thought little about the inspector. One morning as the warders were going their rounds one of them summoned Albin, who was working with Claude, to go before the inspector. “What are you wanted for?” said Claude. “I do not know,” replied Albin, following the warder. All day Claude looked in vain for his companion, and at night, finding him still absent, he broke through his ordinary reserve and addressed the turnkey. “Is Albin ill?” said he. “No,” replied the man. “How is it that he has never put in an appearance to-day?” “His quarters have been changed,” was the reply. For a moment Claude trembled, then calmly continued, “Who gave the order?” “Monsieur D----.” This was the inspector’s name. On the following night the inspector, Monsieur D----, went his rounds as usual. Claude, who had perceived him from the distance, rose, and hastened to raise his woolen cap and button his gray woolen vest to the throat--considered a mark of respect to superiors in prison discipline. “Sir,” said Claude, as the inspector was about to pass him, “has Albin really been quartered elsewhere?” “Yes,” replied the inspector. “Sir, I can not live without him. You know the rations are insufficient for me, and Albin divided his portion with me. Could you not manage to let him resume his old place near me?” “Impossible; the order can not be revoked.” “By whom was it given?” “By me.” “Monsieur D----,” replied Claude, “on you my life depends.” “I never cancel an order once given.” “Sir, what have I ever done to you?” “Nothing.” “Why, then,” cried Claude, “separate me from Albin?” “Because I do,” replied the inspector, and with that he passed on.