VII
'I am suffering extremely, but we must all suffer, so long as the social question is so abominably, so iniquitously neglected,' Poupin remarked, speaking French and rolling toward Hyacinth his salient, excited-looking eyes, which always had the same proclaiming, challenging expression, whatever his occupation or his topic. Hyacinth had seated himself near his friend's pillow, opposite the strange young man, who had been accommodated with a chair at the foot of the bed.
'Ah, yes; with their filthy politics the situation of the pauvre monde is the last thing they ever think of!' his wife exclaimed, from the fire. 'There are times when I ask myself how long it will go on.'
'It will go on till the measure of their imbecility, their infamy, is full. It will go on till the day of justice, till the reintegration of the despoiled and disinherited, is ushered in with an irresistible force.'
'Oh, we always see things go on; we never see them change,' said Madame Poupin, making a very cheerful clatter with a big spoon in a saucepan.
'We may not see it, but they'll see it,' her husband rejoined. 'But what do I say, my children? I do see it,' he pursued. 'It's before my eyes, in its luminous reality,
