in order not to consume
any candles. It seemed as though he had no longer any neighbors: people
avoided him when he went out; he perceived the fact. The wretchedness of
a child interests a mother, the wretchedness of a young man interests a
young girl, the wretchedness of an old man interests no one. It is, of
all distresses, the coldest. Still, Father Mabeuf had not entirely lost
his childlike serenity. His eyes acquired some vivacity when they rested
on his books, and he smiled when he gazed at the Diogenes Laertius,
which was a unique copy. His bookcase with glass doors was the
only piece of furniture which he had kept beyond what was strictly
indispensable.

One day, Mother Plutarque said to him:--

"I have no money to buy any dinner."

What she called dinner was a loaf of bread and four or five potatoes.

"On credit?" suggested M. Mabeuf.

"You know well that people refuse me."

M. Mabeuf opened his bookcase, took a long look at all his books, one
after another, as a father obliged to decimate his children would gaze
upon them before making a choice, then seized one hastily, put it
in under his arm and went out. He returned two hours later, without
anything under his arm, laid thirty sous on the table, and said:--

"You will get something for dinner."

From that moment forth, Mother Plutarque saw a sombre veil, which was
never more lifted, descend over the old man's candid face.

On the following day, on the day after, and on the day after that, it
had to be done again.

M. Mabeuf went out with a book and returned with a coin. As the
second-hand dealers perceived that he was forced to sell, they purchased
of him for twenty sous that for which he had paid twenty francs,
sometimes at those very shops. Volume by volume, the whole library
went the same road. He said at times: "But I am eighty;" as though he
cherished some secret hope that he should arrive at the end of his days
before reaching the end of his books. His melancholy increased. Once,
however, he had a pleasure. He had gone out with a Robert Estienne,
which he had sold for thirty-five sous under the Quai Malaquais, and he
returned with an Aldus which he had bought for forty sous in the Rue des
Gres.--"I owe five sous," he said, beaming on Mother Plutarque. That day
he had no dinner.

He belonged to the Horticultural Society. His destitution became known
there. The president of the society came to see him, promised to
speak to the Minister of A