He grew more taciturn and silent than ever, and seemed interested in nothing, not even in his son's studies.

He returned home late, ate little at dinner, and then went out again with a tottering step to pace the dark, gloomy streets.
At the office, where he still did his work mechanically, he was a doomed man; he never would be elected chief assistant.

"What depravity!" said one of his fellow clerks, a young man with a bright future, protected by the head of the department, who went to the races and had not his equal in imitating the "Gnouf! gnouf!" of Grassot, the actor.

"A man of his age does not decline so rapidly without good cause.

It is not natural!" What is it, then, that has reduced M.Violette to such a degree of dejection and wretchedness?
Alas! we must admit it.