Just
as his nephew was about to withdraw, he borrowed ten francs of him. Then
for a month he lived by taking his children's old clothes, one by one,
to a second-hand dealer's, and in the same way, little by little, he
sold all the small articles in the house. Soon nothing remained but
a table, a chair, his bed, and the clothes on his back. He ended by
exchanging the walnut-wood bedstead for a plain strap one. When he had
exhausted all his resources, he cried with rage; and, with the fierce
pallor of a man who is resigned to suicide, he went to look for the
bundle of osier that he had forgotten in some corner for a quarter of
a century past. As he took it up he seemed to be lifting a mountain.
However, he again began to plait baskets and hampers, while denouncing
the human race for their neglect.
It was particularly at this time that he talked of dividing and sharing
the riches of the wealthy. He showed himself terrible. His speeches
kept up a constant conflagration in the tavern, where his furious looks
secured him unlimited credit. Moreover, he only worked when he had been
unable to get a five-franc piece out of Silvere or a comrade. He was
no longer "Monsieur" Macquart, the clean-shaven workman, who wore his
Sunday clothes every day and played the gentleman; he again became the
big slovenly devil who had once speculated on his rags. Felicite did not
dare to go to market now that he was so often coming there to sell
his baskets.
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