"You will wait!" cried Lisa, losing patience.

Two rosy fires had risen to her cheeks. As she stood there, erect, in
her white apron, with rounded, swelling hips, it was with difficulty
that she restrained herself from breaking out into bitter words.
However, the entrance of another person into the shop arrested her
anger. The new arrival was Madame Lecoeur.

"Can you let me have half a pound of mixed meats at fifty sous the
pound?" she asked.

She at first pretended not to notice her brother-in-law; but presently
she just nodded her head to him, without speaking. Then she scrutinised
the three men from head to foot, doubtless hoping to divine their secret
by the manner in which they waited for her to go. She could see that she
was putting them out, and the knowledge of this rendered her yet more
sour and angular, as she stood there in her limp skirts, with her long,
spider-like arms bent and her knotted fingers clasped beneath her apron.
Then, as she coughed slightly, Gavard, whom the silence embarrassed,
inquired if she had a cold.

She curtly answered in the negative. Her tightly stretched skin was of
a red-brick colour on those parts of her face where her bones protruded,
and the dull fire burning in her eyes and scorching their lids testified
to some liver complaint nurtured by the querulous jealousy of her
disposition. She turned round again towards the counter, and watched
each movement made by Lisa as she served her with the distrustful glance
of one who is convinced that an attempt will be made to defraud her.