Duclos suddenly became quiet, and holding his breath looked at his comrades. Then, with the same strange and resolute expression with which he used to enter on a fight, he staggered up to the sailor who was embracing the girl, and struck down with his hand⁠—dividing them apart.

“Away! Do you not see that she is your sister! Each of them is someone’s sister. See, here is my sister, Françoise! Ha, ha⁠ ⁠… ha⁠ ⁠… and he broke into sobs that almost sounded like laughter. Then he staggered, raised his hands, and fell with a crash to the floor, where he rolled about, striking the floor with his hands and feet and choking as though about to die.

“He must be put to bed,” said one of his comrades. “We shall be having him taken up if we go out into the streets.”

So they lifted Celestin and dragged him upstairs to Françoise’s room, where they laid him on her bed.