At last these ladies thought they made out the word "francs," and Madame

Tuvache whispered in a low voice-"She is begging him to give her time for paying her taxes."

"Apparently!" replied the other.

They saw her walking up and down, examining the napkin-rings, the

candlesticks, the banister rails against the walls, while Binet stroked

his beard with satisfaction.

"Do you think she wants to order something of him?" said Madame Tuvache.

"Why, he doesn't sell anything," objected her neighbour.

The tax-collector seemed to be listening with wide-open eyes, as if he

did not understand. She went on in a tender, suppliant manner. She came

nearer to him, her breast heaving; they no longer spoke.

"Is she making him advances?" said Madame Tuvache. Binet was scarlet to

his very ears. She took hold of his hands.

"Oh, it's too much!"

And no doubt she was suggesting something abominable to him; for the

tax-collector--yet he was brave, had fought at Bautzen and at Lutzen,

had been through the French campaign, and had even been recommended for

the cross--suddenly, as at the sight of a serpent, recoiled as far as he

could from her, crying-"Madame! what do you mean?"

"Women like that ought to be whipped," said Madame Tuvache.

"But where is she?" continued Madame Caron, for she had disappeared

whilst they spoke; then catching sight of her going up the Grande Rue,

and turning to the right as if making for the cemetery, they were lost

in conjectures.

"Nurse Rollet," she said on reaching the nurse's, "I am choking; unlace

me!" She fell on the bed sobbing. Nurse Rollet covered her with a

petticoat and remained standing by her side. Then, as she did not

answer, the good woman withdrew, took her wheel and began spinning flax.

"Oh, leave off!" she murmured, fancying she heard Binet's lathe.

"What's bothering her?" said the nurse to herself. "Why has she come

here?"

She had rushed thither; impelled by a kind of horror that drove her from

her home.

Lying on her back, motionless, and with staring eyes, she saw things but

vaguely, although she tried to with idiotic persistence. She looked

at the scales on the walls, two brands smoking end to end, and a long

spider crawling over her head in a rent in the beam. At last she began

to collect her thoughts. She remembered--one day--Leon--Oh! how long

ago that was--the sun was shining on the river, and the clematis were

perfuming the air. Then, carried away as by a rushing torrent, she soon

began to recall the day before.




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