Presently people began to gossip, and a story crept round that, in a new
shed which he had built behind his shop, Francois was chiselling out of
stone the nude figure of a woman. There were one or two who professed
they had seen it. The wildest gossip said that the figure was that of
the young lady at the Seigneury. Francois saw no more of Jeanne
Marchand; he thought of her sometimes, but that was all. A fever of work
was on him. Twice she came to the shed where he laboured, and knocked at
the door. The first time, he asked who was there. When she told him he
opened the door just a little way, smiled at her, caught her hand and
pressed it, and, when she would have entered, said: "No, no, another day,
Jeanne," and shut the door in her face.

She almost hated him because he had looked so happy. Still another day
she came knocking. She called to him, and this time he opened the door
and admitted her. That very hour she had heard again the story of the
nude stone woman in the shed, and her heart was full of jealousy, fury,
and suspicion. He was very quiet, he seemed tired. She did not notice
that. Her heart had throbbed wildly as she stepped inside the shed.
She looked round, all delirious eagerness for the nude figure.

There it was, covered up with a great canvas! Yes, there were the
outlines of the figure. How shapely it seemed, even inside the canvas!

She stepped forward without a word, and snatched at the covering. He
swiftly interposed and stopped her hand.

"I will see it," she said.

"Not to-day," he answered.