"Certainly not. And how is poor Germain?"
"Why, my dear, I have seen many prisoners; they have been sad for a day,—two days, perhaps,—and then gradually got into the same way as the others; and those who were most out of sorts at first often ended by becoming the merriest of all. But M. Germain, is not one of these, he has still that melancholy air."
"How sorry I am to hear it!"
"When I'm on duty in the yards, I look at him from the corner of my eye, he is always alone. I have already told you that you should advise him not to do so, but to resolve on conversing with the others, or it will end with his becoming suspected and ill-used by them. We keep a close look-out, but a mischievous blow is soon given."
"Oh, sir, is there any danger threatens him?" cried Rigolette.
"Not precisely, but these ruffians see that he is not one of them, and hate him because he has an honest and proud look."
"Yet I advised him to do what you told me, sir, and make up his mind to talk to some of the least wicked! But he cannot help it, he cannot get over his repugnance."
"He is wrong—wrong! A struggle is so soon begun."
"Can't he, then, be separated from the others?"
"For the last two or three days, since I have seen their ill-will towards him, I advised him to place himself what we call à la pistole,—that is, in a room."