“I am afraid he is,” said the old lady, with much simplicity.

“Suppose he should be a spy.  Perhaps it is a conspiracy.  Don’t go.  Take back the box.”  These words, whispered in the pastry-cook’s ear by the wife of his bosom, chilled the sudden compassion that had warmed him.

“Well, well, I will just say two words to the man and get rid of him,” he said, opening the door and hurrying out.

The old gentlewoman, passive as a child and half paralyzed with fear, sat down again.  The shopkeeper almost instantly reappeared; but his face, red by nature and still further scorched by the fires of his bakery, had suddenly turned pale, and he was in the grasp of such terror that his legs shook and his eyes were like those of a drunken man.

“Miserable aristocrat!” he cried, furiously, “do you want to cut off our heads?  Go out from here; let me see your heels, and don’t dare to come back; don’t expect me to supply you with the means of conspiracy!”

So saying, the pastry-cook endeavored to get back the little box which the old lady had already slipped into one of her pockets.  Hardly had the bold hands of the shopkeeper touched her clothing, than, preferring to encounter danger with no protection but that of God rather than lose the thing she had come to buy, she recovered the agility of youth, and sprang to the door, through which she disappeared abruptly, leaving the husband and wife amazed and trembling.

As soon as the poor lady found herself alone in the street she began to walk rapidly; but her strength soon gave way, for she once more heard the snow creaking under the footsteps of the spy as he trod heavily upon it.  She was obliged to stop short:  the man stopped also.  She dared not speak to him, nor even look at him; either because of her terror, or from some lack of natural intelligence.  Presently she continued her walk slowly; the man measured his step by hers, and kept at the same distance behind her; he seemed to move like her shadow.  Nine o’clock struck as the silent couple repassed the church of Saint-Laurent.  It is the nature of all souls, even the weakest, to fall back into quietude after moments of violent agitation; for manifold as our feelings may be, our bodily powers are limited.  Thus the old lady, receiving no injury from her apparent persecutor, began to think that he might be a secret friend watching to protect her.  She gathered up in her mind the circumstances attending other apparitions of the mysterious stranger as if to find plausible grounds for this consoling opinion, and took pleasure in crediting him with good rather than sinister intentions.  Forgetting the terror he had inspired in the pastry-cook, she walked on with a firmer step towards the upper part of the Faubourg Saint-Martin.