As the young man made this remark, he opened his eyes wider, and pinched his lips, proud to be a humble wheel in such a large machine. Shaking his head, he continued: “Oh! but he is in a good position. He has studied. He already earns 1,500 francs a year. His father sent him to college. He had read for the bar, and learnt painting. That is so, is it not, Laurent? You’ll dine with us?” “I am quite willing,” boldly replied the other. He got rid of his hat and made himself comfortable in the shop, while Madame Raquin ran off to her stewpots. Thérèse, who had not yet pronounced a word, looked at the new arrival. She had never seen such a man before. Laurent, who was tall and robust, with a florid complexion, astonished her. It was with a feeling akin to admiration, that she contemplated his low forehead planted with coarse black hair, his full cheeks, his red lips, his regular features of sanguineous beauty. For an instant her eyes rested on his neck, a neck that was thick and short, fat and powerful. Then she became lost in the contemplation of his great hands which he kept spread out on his knees: the fingers were square; the clenched fist must be enormous and would fell an ox. Laurent was a real son of a peasant, rather heavy in gait, with an arched back, with movements that were slow and precise, and an obstinate tranquil manner. One felt that his apparel concealed round and well-developed muscles, and a body of thick hard flesh. Thérèse examined him with curiosity, glancing from his fists to his face, and experienced little shivers when her eyes fell on his bull-like neck. Camille spread out his Buffon volumes, and his serials at 10 centimes the number, to show his friend that he also studied. Then, as if answering an inquiry he had been making of himself for some minutes, he said to Laurent: “But, surely you must know my wife? Don’t you remember that little cousin who used to play with us at Vernon?” “I had no difficulty in recognising Madame,” answered Laurent, looking Thérèse full in the face. This penetrating glance troubled the young woman, who, nevertheless, gave a forced smile, and after exchanging a few words with Laurent and her husband, hurried away to join her aunt, feeling ill at ease. As soon as they had seated themselves at table, and commenced the soup, Camille thought it right to be attentive to his friend. “How is your father?” he inquired. “Well, I don’t know,” answered Laurent. “We are not on good terms; we ceased corresponding five years ago.” “Bah!” exclaimed the clerk, astonished at such a monstrosity. “Yes,” continued the other, “the dear man has ideas of his own. As he is always at law with his neighbours, he sent me to college, in the fond hope that later on, he would find in me an advocate who would win him all his actions. Oh! daddy Laurent has naught but useful ambitions; he even wants to get something out of his follies.” “And you wouldn’t be an advocate?” inquired Camille, more and more astonished.