"I'm so fond of black-puddings, you know, when they come straight out
of the pot," resumed La Normande. "I'll come and get some of you
to-morrow."

She was conscious of her rival's unfriendly greeting. However, she
glanced at Florent, who seemed to interest her; and then, unwilling to
go off without having the last word, she was imprudent enough to add: "I
bought some black-pudding of you the day before yesterday, you know, and
it wasn't quite sweet."

"Not quite sweet!" repeated Lisa, very pale, and her lips quivering.

She might, perhaps, have once more restrained herself, for fear of La
Normande imagining that she was overcome by envious spite at the
sight of the lace bow; but the girl, not content with playing the spy,
proceeded to insult her, and that was beyond endurance. So, leaning
forward, with her hands clenched on the counter, she exclaimed, in a
somewhat hoarse voice: "I say! when you sold me that pair of soles
last week, did I come and tell you, before everybody that they were
stinking?"

"Stinking! My soles stinking!" cried the fish dealer, flushing scarlet.

For a moment they remained silent, choking with anger, but glaring
fiercely at each other over the array of dishes. All their honeyed
friendship had vanished; a word had sufficed to reveal what sharp teeth
there were behind their smiling lips.

"You're a vulgar, low creature!" cried the beautiful Norman. "You'll
never catch me setting foot in here again, I can tell you!"