"I never spoke so seriously in my life. It seems strange to you, doesn't it? Yet it's sober truth."
Jenny's large eyes continued to interrogate him.
"Why," he continued, with lofty carelessness, "life, you know, is like a bunch of grapes, which one either eats gradually, piece by piece, or squeezes into a glass to be tossed off at a gulp. I've chosen the latter way. My grape was four million francs; they are drunk up to the dregs. I don't regret them, I've had a jolly life for my money. But now I can flatter myself that I am as much of a beggar as any beggar in France. Everything at my house is in the bailiff's hands—I am without a domicile, without a penny."
He spoke with increasing animation as the multitude of diverse thoughts passed each other tumultuously in his brain. And he was not playing a part. He was speaking in all good faith.
"But—then—" stammered Jenny.
"What? Are you free? Just so—"
She hardly knew whether to rejoice or mourn.
"Yes," he continued, "I give you back your liberty."
Jenny made a gesture which Hector misunderstood.
"Oh! be quiet," he added quickly, "I sha'n't leave you thus; I would not desert you in a state of need. This furniture is yours, and I have provided for you besides. Here in my pocket are five hundred napoleons; it is my all; I have brought it to give to you."