For Colette was her name, though she was as dark as gingerbread, nearly
forty-five years old, and boasted of a decided mustache on her upper
lip.

"Poor young lady!" she said. "You feel badly at being here."

"Yes," replied Dionysia. "But where is your husband?"

"Down stairs, on the lookout, madam. He will come up directly." Very
soon afterwards, a heavy step was heard on the stairs; and Blangin came
in, looking pale and anxious, like a man who feels that he is running a
great risk.

"Neither seen nor known," he cried. "No one is aware of your presence
here. I was only afraid of that dog of a sentinel; and, just as you came
by, I had managed to get him round the corner, offering him a drop of
something to drink. I begin to hope I shall not lose my place."

Dionysia accepted these words as a summons to speak out.

"Ah!" she said, "don't mind your place: don't you know I have promised
you a better one?"

And, with a gayety which was very far from being real, she opened her
little bag, and put upon the table the rolls which it contained.

"Ah, that is gold!" said Blangin with eager eyes.

"Yes. Each one of these rolls contains a thousand francs; and here are