Florent, surprised by the question, replied in the negative; and thereupon Claude waxed enthusiastic, talking of that series of prints in very eulogical fashion.  He mentioned certain incidents:  the Fat, so swollen that they almost burst, preparing their evening debauch, while the Thin, bent double by fasting, looked in from the street with the appearance of envious laths; and then, again, the Fat, with hanging cheeks, driving off one of the Thin, who had been audacious enough to introduce himself into their midst in lowly humility, and who looked like a ninepin amongst a population of balls.

In these designs Claude detected the entire drama of human life, and he ended by classifying men into Fat and Thin, two hostile groups, one of which devours the other, and grows fat and sleek and enjoys itself.

“Cain,” said he, “was certainly one of the Fat, and Abel one of the Thin.  Ever since that first murder, there have been rampant appetites which have drained the life-blood of small eaters.  It’s a continual preying of the stronger upon the weaker; each swallowing his neighbour, and then getting swallowed in his turn.  Beware of the Fat, my friend.”

He relapsed into silence for a moment, still watching their two shadows, which the setting sun elongated more than ever.  Then he murmured:  “You see, we belong to the Thin—­you and I. Those who are no more corpulent than we are don’t take up much room in the sunlight, eh?”

Florent glanced at the two shadows, and smiled.  But Claude waxed angry, and exclaimed:  “You make a mistake if you think it is a laughing matter.  For my own part, I greatly suffer from being one of the Thin.  If I were one of the Fat, I could paint at my ease; I should have a fine studio, and sell my pictures for their weight in gold.  But, instead of that, I’m one of the Thin; and I have to grind my life out in producing things which simply make the Fat ones shrug their shoulders.  I shall die of it all in the end, I’m sure of it, with my skin clinging to my bones, and so flattened that they will be able to bury me between two leaves of a book.  And you, too, you are one of the Thin, a wonderful one; the very king of Thin, in fact!  Do you remember your quarrel with the fish-wives?  It was magnificent; all those colossal bosoms flying at your scraggy breast!  Oh! they were simply acting from natural instinct; they were pursuing one of the Thin just as cats pursue a mouse.  The Fat, you know, have an instinctive hatred of the Thin, to such an extent that they must needs drive the latter from their sight, either by means of their teeth or their feet.  And that is why, if I were in your place, I should take my precautions.  The Quenus belong to the Fat, and so do the Mehudins; indeed, you have none but Fat ones around you.  I should feel uneasy under such circumstances.”

“And what about Gavard, and Mademoiselle Saget, and your friend Marjolin?” asked Florent, still smiling.