Claude then sorted the few things a poor prisoner is allowed, and gave them to the comrades he mostly cared for after Albin, keeping only the pair of scissors. He then embraced them all--some not being able to withhold their tears at such a moment. Claude continued calmly to converse during this last hour, and even gave way to a trick he had as a boy, of extinguishing the candle with a breath from his nose. Seeing him thus, his companions afterward owned that they hoped he had abandoned his sinister idea. One young convict looked at him fixedly, trembling for the coming event. “Take courage, young fellow,” said Claude, gently; “it will be but the work of a minute.” The workshop was a long room with a door at both ends, and with windows each side overlooking the benches, thus leaving a pathway up the centre for the inspector to review the work on both sides of him. Claude had now resumed his work--something like Jacques Clement, who did not fail to repeat his prayers. As the clock sounded the last quarter to nine, Claude rose and placed himself near the entrance, apparently calm. Amid the most profound silence the clock struck nine; the door was thrown open, and the inspector came in as usual alone, looking quite jovial and self-satisfied, passing rapidly along, tossing his head at one; grinding words out to another, little heeding the eyes fixed so fiercely upon him. Just then he heard Claude’s step, and turning quickly around said: “What are you doing here? Why are you not in your place?” just as he would have spoken to a dog. Claude answered respectfully, “I wish to speak to you, sir.” “On what subject?” “Albin.” “Again!” “Always the same,” said Claude. “So then,” replied the inspector, walking along, “you have not had enough with twenty-four hours in the blackhole.” Claude, following him closely, replied: “Sir, return my companion to me!” “Impossible!” “Sir,” continued Claude, in a voice which would have moved Satan, “I implore you to send Albin back to me; you will then see how I will work. You are free, and it would matter but little to you; you do not know the feeling of having only one friend. To me it is everything, encircled by the prison walls. You can come and go at your pleasure; I have but Albin. Pray let him come back to me! You know well he shared his food with me. What can it matter to you that a man named Claude Gueux should be in this hall, having another by his side called Albin? You have but to say ‘Yes,’ nothing more. Sir, my good sir, I implore you in the name of Heaven to grant my prayer!” Claude, overcome with emotion, waited for the answer. “Impossible!” replied the inspector, impatiently; “I will not recall my words. Now go, you annoyance!” And with that he hurried on toward the outer door, amid the breathless silence maintained by the eighty-one thieves. Claude, following and touching the inspector, gently asked: “Let me at least know why I am condemned to death. Why did you separate us?”