Claude’s head sank down, like the poor caged lion deprived of his dog; but the grief, though so deeply felt, in no way changed his appetite--he was famished. Many offered to share their rations with him, but he steadily refused, and continued his usual routine in silence--breaking it only to ask the inspector daily, in tones of anguish mingled with rage, something between a prayer and a threat, these two words: “And Albin?” The inspector simply passed on, shrugging his shoulders; but had he only observed Claude he would have seen the evident change, noticeable to all present, and he would have heard these words, spoken respectfully but firmly: “Sir, listen to me; send my companion to me. It would be wise to do so, I can assure you. Remember my words!” On Sunday he had sat for hours in the courtyard, with his head bowed in his hands, and when a prisoner called Faillette came up laughing, Claude said: “I am judging some one.” On the 25th of October, 1831, as the inspector went his rounds, Claude, to draw his attention, smashed a watch-glass he had found in the passage. This had the desired effect. “It was I,” said Claude. “Sir, restore my comrade to me.” “Impossible,” was the answer. Looking the inspector full in the face, Claude firmly added: “Now, reflect! To-day is the 25th of October; I give you till the 4th of November.” A warder remarked that Claude was threatening Monsieur D----, and ought at once to be locked up. “No, it is not a case of blackhole,” replied the inspector smiling disdainfully; “we must be considerate with people of this stamp.” The following day Claude was again accosted by one of the prisoners named Pernot, as he was brooding in the courtyard. “Well, Claude, you are sad indeed; what are you pondering over?” “I fear some evil threatens that good Monsieur D----.” answered Claude. Claude daily impressed the fact on the inspector how much Albin’s absence affected him, but with no result save four-and-twenty hours’ solitary confinement. On the 4th of November he looked round his cell for the little that remained to remind him of his former life. A pair of scissors, and an old volume of the “Émile,” belonging to the woman he had loved so well, the mother of his child--how useless to a man who could neither work nor read! As Claude walked down the old cloisters, so dishonored by its new inmates and its fresh whitewashed walls, he noticed how earnestly the convict Ferrari was looking at the heavy iron bars that crossed the window, and he said to him: “To-night I will cut through these bars with these scissors,” pointing to the pair he still held in his hand. Ferrari laughed incredulously, and Claude joined in the mirth. During the day he worked with more than ordinary ardor, wishing to finish a straw hat, which he had been paid for in advance by a tradesman at Troyes--M. Bressier.