soon enough," he exclaimed, as he bounced out of the shop.

The old lady meanwhile, passive as a child and almost dazed, sat down
on her chair again. But the honest pastry-cook came back directly. A
countenance red enough to begin with, and further flushed by the
bake-house fire, was suddenly blanched; such terror perturbed him that
he reeled as he walked, and stared about him like a drunken man.

"Miserable aristocrat! Do you want to have our heads cut off?" he
shouted furiously. "You just take to your heels and never show
yourself here again. Don't come to me for materials for your plots."

He tried, as he spoke, to take away the little box which she had
slipped into one of her pockets. But at the touch of a profane hand on
her clothes, the stranger recovered youth and activity for a moment,
preferring to face the dangers of the street with no protector save
God, to the loss of the thing she had just paid for. She sprang to the
door, flung it open, and disappeared, leaving the husband and wife
dumfounded and quaking with fright.

Once outside in the street, she started away at a quick walk; but her
strength soon failed her. She heard the sound of the snow crunching
under a heavy step, and knew that the pitiless spy was on her track.
She was obliged to stop. He stopped likewise. From sheer terror, or
lack of intelligence, she did not dare to speak or to look at him. She
went slowly on; the man slackened his pace and fell behind so that he
could still keep her in sight. He might have been her very shadow.

Nine o'clock struck as the silent man and woman passed again by the
Church of Saint Laurent. It is in the nature of things that calm must