refer to the matter again.  They would remain seated at table for a few moments after dessert, and Florent, who had noticed his sister-in-law’s vexation if ever he went off too soon, tried to find something to talk about.  On these occasions Lisa would be near him, and certainly he did not suffer in her presence from that fishy smell which assailed him when he was in the company of La Normande.  The mistress of the pork shop, on the contrary, exhaled an odour of fat and rich meats.  Moreover, not a thrill of life stirred her tight-fitting bodice; she was all massiveness and all sedateness.  Gavard once said to Florent in confidence that Madame Quenu was no doubt handsome, but that for his part he did not admire such armour-plated women.

Lisa avoided talking to Quenu of Florent.  She habitually prided herself on her patience, and considered, too, that it would not be proper to cause any unpleasantness between the brothers, unless some peremptory reason for her interference should arise.  As she said, she could put up with a good deal, but, of course, she must not be tried too far.  She had now reached the period of courteous tolerance, wearing an expressionless face, affecting perfect indifference and strict politeness, and carefully avoiding everything which might seem to hint that Florent was boarding and lodging with them without their receiving the slightest payment from him.  Not, indeed, that she would have accepted any payment from him, she was above all that; still he might, at any rate, she thought, have lunched away from the house.

“We never seem to be alone now,” she remarked to Quenu one day.  “If there is anything we want to say to one another we have to wait till we go upstairs at night.”

And then, one night when they were in bed, she said to him:  “Your brother earns a hundred and fifty francs a month, doesn’t he?  Well, it’s strange he can’t put a trifle by to buy himself some more linen.  I’ve been obliged to give him three more of your old shirts.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” Quenu replied.  “Florent’s not hard to please; and we must let him keep his money for himself.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” said Lisa, without pressing the matter further.  “I didn’t mention it for that reason.  Whether he spends his money well or ill, it isn’t our business.”

In her own mind she felt quite sure that he wasted his salary at the Mehudins’.

Only on one occasion did she break through her habitual calmness of demeanour, the quiet reserve which was the result of both natural temperament and preconceived design.  The beautiful Norman had made Florent a present of a magnificent salmon.  Feeling very much embarrassed with the fish, and not daring to refuse it, he brought it to Lisa.

“You can make a pasty of it,” he said ingenuously.

Lisa looked at him sternly with whitening lips.  Then, striving to restrain her anger, she exclaimed:  “Do you think that we are short of food?  Thank God, we’ve got quite enough to eat here!  Take it back!”