“You’d find most busy places just as dirty,” said Gard.

“Then I’ll go to sea.  That’s clean at all events.”

“Let’s hope things will brighten a bit.  You wouldn’t find the fo’c’sle of a trader as comfortable as La Closerie, my boy,”—­and they fell to on their dinner and left the matter there.

“Dites-donc, Nannon, ma petite,” said Mrs. Tom to Nance, a day or two later, “who is the joli gars who comes each day to see you?”

“Mr. Gard from the mines comes up here to get his dinner, if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh—­ho!  He comes for his dinner, does he?  And is that all he comes for, little Miss Modesty?”

“That’s all,” said Nance solemnly.

“Oh yes, without a doubt, that’s all.  I think I’ll ask him next time I see him.  Why doesn’t he go home for his dinner like other people?”

“He’s living at Plaisance now and it’s far to go.  He used to live here, you know.”

“Ma foi, no, I didn’t know.  He used to live here?  And why did he go to Plaisance then?”

“We hadn’t room for him, you see.”

“But, Mon Dieu, we have room and to spare!  There are those two bedrooms empty.  Why shouldn’t he—­”

But Nance shook her head at that.

“Why then?” demanded Mrs. Tom, with visions of some one besides Tom to talk to of an evening—­a good-looking, sensible one too.  “Why?”

“He and Tom don’t get on well together—­”

“Pardi, I’m not surprised at that.  It would need an angel out of heaven to get on with him sometimes.  What induced me ever to marry such a grumbler I don’t know.  I wonder if Monsieur What-is-it?—­Gard—­would come back if I could arrange it?”

But Nance shook her head again.

“Ah—­ha, ma garche, and you would sooner he did not—­is it not so?”

“I’m quite sure he and Tom would never get on together, and I don’t think Mr. Gard would come.”

“It’s worth trying, however.  He would be some one to talk to of an evening any way.”

And so, when Tom came in that evening, she tackled him on the subject.

“Say then, mon beau,”—­and as she said it she could not but contrast his slouching bulk with the straight, well-knit figure of the other—­“why should we not take in a lodger as all the rest do?  Our two rooms there are empty and—­”

“Who’s the lodger?”

“There is one comes up every day to dinner next door, and would stop there altogether if they had the room.  Tiens, what’s this his name is?  He’s from the mines—­”

“You mean Gard—­the manager,” scowled Tom.

“That’s it—­Monsieur Gard.  Why shouldn’t he—­”

“Because I’d break his head if I got the chance, and he knows it.  Comes up there to dinner, does he?  How long’s he been doing that?”

“For a week now.  Couldn’t you get over your bad feeling?  It would be money in our pockets.”

“No, I couldn’t, and he wouldn’t come if you asked him.”