under me. I've had a bad cough ever since
then. Now, I'm finished."

He looked at his poor stiff hands and added:

"It's easy to understand, I'm no longer good for anything. They're
right; were I in their place I should do the same. You see, the
misfortune is that I'm not dead. Yes, it's my fault. One should lie down
and croak when one's no longer able to work."

"Really," said Lorilleux, who was listening, "I don't understand why
the Government doesn't come to the aid of the invalids of labor. I was
reading that in a newspaper the other day."

But Poisson thought it his duty to defend the Government.

"Workmen are not soldiers," declared he. "The Invalides is for soldiers.
You must not ask for what is impossible."

Dessert was now served. In the centre of the table was a Savoy cake in
the form of a temple, with a dome fluted with melon slices; and this
dome was surmounted by an artificial rose, close to which was a silver
paper butterfly, fluttering at the end of a wire. Two drops of gum in
the centre of the flower imitated dew. Then, to the left, a piece of
cream cheese floated in a deep dish; whilst in another dish to the
right, were piled up some large crushed strawberries, with the juice
running from them. However, there was still some salad left, some large
coss lettuce leaves soaked with oil.

"Come, Madame Boche," said Gervaise, coaxingly, "a little more salad. I
know how fond you are of it."

"No, no, thank you! I've already had as much as I can manage," replied
the concierge.

The laundress turning towards Virginie, the latter put her finger in her
mouth, as though to touch the food she had taken.

"Really, I'm full," murmured she. "There's no room left. I couldn't
swallow a mouthful."

"Oh! but if you tried a little," resumed Gervaise with a smile. "One can
always find a tiny corner empty. Once doesn't need to be hungry to be
able to eat salad. You're surely not going to let this be wasted?"

"You can eat it to-morrow," said Madame Lerat; "it's nicer when its
wilted."

The ladies sighed as they looked regretfully at the salad-bowl. Clemence
related that she had one day eaten three bunches of watercresses at
her lunch. Madame Putois could do more than that, she would take a coss
lettuce and munch it up with some salt just as it was without separating
the leaves. They could all have lived on salad, would have treated
themselves to tubfuls. And, this conversation aiding, the ladies cleaned
out