Money became more and more scarce, but this worried her not at all.  She was coming to associate the possession of money with Louis’s restlessness, for always on English mail days he was restless and bad tempered until she had paid away practically all their money, when he became calm again.  She began to think that if she could devise a way of living by barter, without money at all, they might conceivably eliminate these fits of restlessness and petulance.  And all the time, as there seemed no chance of getting work, she was racking her brains for some way of getting out of the city before his next intermittent outburst came along.

English mail day usually happened on Monday; on the Saturday before the last remittance would arrive Marcella discovered that she had no money at all.  She told Louis with a little, perplexed laugh.

“Lord, and I’ve no cigarettes,” he cried in dismay.

“Well, it’s only one day,” she began.  He got nearly frantic.

“You know perfectly well I can’t do without cigarettes,” he cried.  “If I do I’ll get all raked up.  You know what it means if I get all raked up—­”

“Oh, don’t always be threatening me with that,” she cried hotly.  “You know I’m doing my best, Louis.  But I tell you I wouldn’t be a slave to anything like cigarettes.  I do believe St. Paul when he says, ’If thy right hand offend thee cut it off.’ I would—­if my right hand dared to boss me.”

“Probably you would,” he sneered.  “We all know how damned superior you always are, and as for an emasculated old ass like St. Paul—­blasted, white-livered passive resister—­”

She stared at him and laughed.  Her laugh maddened him.

“I wonder why it is,” she said quietly, “that if anyone conquers his particular vice, people sneer at him and call him names?  You seem to think that curing a cancer in one’s mind is rather an effeminate thing to do, Louis—­rather a priggish thing.  I suppose if you get cured of drinking you’ll say you never did it for fear of being called a prig?”

“Oh, for God’s sake stop theorizing and face facts!” he cried.  “Just like a woman, to run away from things.  Where am I to get cigarettes from for to-morrow?  Marcella, I can’t be without them!  What on earth you do with the money I can’t imagine!  Girlie—­do get them for me,” and he burst into tears.  She stared at him in astonishment.  The next moment her arms were round his neck, his head on her shoulder.

“You poor little boy,” she whispered.  “Don’t worry.  I’ll get them for you.”

“I’m sorry I’m such a kid, dearie.  But you know my nerves are in rags yet.  And I can’t be without cigarettes.  I tell you I can’t be without cigarettes!  Borrow some money from Mrs. King—­”

“Don’t you worry.  I’ll manage it,” she said soothingly.  “We’ve got bread and jam and tea.  We’ll pretend it’s a picnic and we’ve forgotten the rest of the things.”

“Naturally, you’d take good care to get in a good stock of the things you like,” he began.  “Jam!  Oh Lord, I do wish I hadn’t a tongue.  I say unkind things and wish I hadn’t the next minute.”