Suddenly a loud knocking at the door made us start, and a man’s voice called out:  “Marroca, it is I.”  She started:  “My husband! ...  Here, hide under the bed, quickly.”  I was distractedly looking for my overcoat, but she gave me a push, and panted out:  “Come along, come along.”

I lay down flat on my stomach, and crept under the bed without a word, while she went into the kitchen.  I heard her open a cupboard, and then shut it again, and she came back into the room, carrying some object which I could not see, but which she quickly put down; and as her husband was getting impatient, she said, calmly:  “I cannot find the matches.”  Then suddenly she added:  “Oh!  Here they are; I will come and let you in.”

The man came in, and I could see nothing of him but his feet, which were enormous.  If the rest of him was in proportion, he must have been a giant.

I heard kisses, a little pat on her naked flesh, and a laugh, and he said, in a strong Marseilles accent:  “I forgot my purse, so I was obliged to come back; you were sound asleep, I suppose.”  He went to the cupboard, and was a long time in finding what he wanted; and as Marocca had thrown herself onto a bed, as if she were tired out, he went up to her, and no doubt tried to caress her, for she flung a volley of angry r’s at him.  His feet were so close to me that I felt a stupid, inexplicable longing to catch hold of them, but I restrained myself, and when he saw that he could not succeed in his wish, he got angry, and said:  “You are not at all nice, to-night.  Good-bye.”  I heard another kiss, then the big feet turned, and I saw the nails in the soles of his shoes as he went into the next room, the front door was shut, and I was saved!

I came slowly out of my retreat, feeling rather humiliated, and while Marroca danced a jig round me, shouting with laughter, and clapping her hands, I threw myself heavily into a chair.  But I jumped up with a bound, for I had sat down on something cold, and as I was no more dressed than my accomplice was, the contact made me start, and I looked round.  I had sat down on a small axe, used for cutting wood, and as sharp as a knife.  How had it got there? ...  I had certainly not seen it when I went in; but Marroca seeing me jump up, nearly choked with laughter, and coughed with both hands on her stomach.

I thought her amusement rather out of place; we had risked our lives stupidly, and I still felt a cold shiver down my back, and I was rather hurt at her foolish laughter.  “Supposing your husband had seen me?” I said.  “There was no danger of that,” she replied.  “What do you mean? ...  No danger?  That is a good joke! ...  If he had stooped down, he must have seen me.”

She did not laugh any more; she only looked at me with her large eyes, which were bright with merriment.  “He would not have stooped.”  “Why?” I persisted.  “Just suppose that he had let his hat fall, he would have been sure to pick it up, and then...  I was well prepared to defend myself, in this costume!” She put her two strong, round arms about my neck, and, lowering her voice, as she did when she said:  “I adorre you,” she whispered:  “Then he would never have got up again.”  I did not understand her, and said:  “What do you mean?”