older.  She wondered often when Chirac would return.  She might have written to Carlier or to the paper; but she did not.  It was Niepce who discovered in a newspaper that Chirac’s balloon had miscarried.  At the moment the news did not affect her at all; but after several days she began to feel her loss in a dull sort of way; and she felt it more and more, though never acutely.  She was perfectly convinced that Chirac could never have attracted her powerfully.  She continued to dream, at rare intervals, of the kind of passion that would have satisfied her, glowing but banked down like a fire in some fine chamber of a rich but careful household.

She was speculating upon what her future would be, and whether by inertia she was doomed to stay for ever in the Rue Breda, when the Commune caught her.  She was more vexed than frightened by the Commune; vexed that a city so in need of repose and industry should indulge in such antics.  For many people the Commune was a worse experience than the siege; but not for Sophia.  She was a woman and a foreigner.  Niepce was infinitely more disturbed than Sophia; he went in fear of his life.  Sophia would go out to market and take her chances.  It is true that during one period the whole population of the house went to live in the cellars, and orders to the butcher and other tradesmen were given over the party-wall into the adjoining courtyard, which communicated with an alley.  A strange existence, and possibly perilous!  But the women who passed through it and had also passed through the siege, were not very much intimidated by it, unless they happened to have husbands or lovers who were active politicians.

Sophia did not cease, during the greater part of the year 1871, to make a living and to save money.  She watched every sou, and she developed a tendency to demand from her tenants all that they could pay.  She excused this to herself by ostentatiously declaring every detail of her prices in advance.  It came to the same thing in the end, with this advantage, that the bills did not lead to unpleasantness.  Her difficulties commenced when Paris at last definitely resumed its normal aspect and life, when all the women and children came back to those city termini which they had left in such huddled, hysterical throngs, when flats were re-opened that had long been shut, and men who for a whole year had had the disadvantages and the advantages of being without wife and family, anchored themselves once more to the hearth.  Then it was that Sophia failed to keep all her rooms let.  She could have let them easily and constantly and at high rents; but not to men without encumbrances.  Nearly every day she refused attractive tenants in pretty hats, or agreeable gentlemen who only wanted a room on condition that they might offer hospitality to a dashing petticoat.  It was useless to proclaim aloud that her house was ‘serious.’  The ambition of the majority of these joyous persons was to live in a ‘serious’ house, because