“By me.”
“Monsieur D——,” replied Claude, “on you my life depends.”
“I never cancel an order once given.”
“Sir, what have I ever done to you?”
“Nothing.”
“Why, then,” cried Claude, “separate me from Albin?”
“Because I do,” replied the inspector, and with that he passed on.
Claude’s head sunk down, like the poor caged lion deprived of his dog; but the grief, though so deeply felt, in no way changed his appetite—he was famished. Many offered to share their rations with him, but he steadily refused, and continued his usual routine in silence, breaking it only to ask the inspector daily, in tones of anguish mingled with rage, something between a prayer and a threat, these two words:
“And Albin?”
The inspector simply passed on, shrugging his shoulders, but had he only observed Claude he would have seen the evident change, noticeable to all present.