Beautiful Lisa, however, was by no means afraid.  As soon as the sun began to sink she drew up the blind; and, as she sat knitting behind her counter, she serenely scanned the market square, where numerous urchins were poking about in the soil under the gratings which protected the roots of the plane-trees, while porters smoked their pipes on the benches along the footway, at either end of which was an advertisement column covered with theatrical posters, alternately green, yellow, red, and blue, like some harlequin’s costume.  And while pretending to watch the passing vehicles, Lisa would really be scrutinising the beautiful Norman.  She might occasionally be seen bending forward, as though her eyes were following the Bastille and Place Wagram omnibus to the Pointe Saint Eustache, where it always stopped for a time.  But this was only a manoeuvre to enable her to get a better view of the fish-girl, who, as a set-off against the blind, retorted by covering her head and fish with large sheets of brown paper, on the pretext of warding off the rays of the setting sun.  The advantage at present was on Lisa’s side, for as the time for striking the decisive blow approached she manifested the calmest serenity of bearing, whereas her rival, in spite of all her efforts to attain the same air of distinction, always lapsed into some piece of gross vulgarity, which she afterwards regretted.  La Normande’s ambition was to look “like a lady.”  Nothing irritated her more than to hear people extolling the good manners of her rival.  This weak point of hers had not escaped old Madame Mehudin’s observation, and she now directed all her attacks upon it.

“I saw Madame Quenu standing at her door this evening,” she would say sometimes.  “It is quite amazing how well she wears.  And she’s so refined-looking, too; quite the lady, indeed.  It’s the counter that does it, I’m sure.  A fine counter gives a woman such a respectable look.”

In this remark there was a veiled allusion to Monsieur Lebigre’s proposal.  The beautiful Norman would make no reply; but for a moment or two she would seem deep in thought.  In her mind’s eye she saw herself behind the counter of the wine shop at the other corner of the street, forming a pendent, as it were, to beautiful Lisa.  It was this that first shook her love for Florent.

To tell the truth, it was now becoming a very difficult thing to defend Florent.  The whole neighbourhood was in arms against him; it seemed as though everyone had an immediate interest in exterminating him.  Some of the market people swore that he had sold himself to the police; while others asserted that he had been seen in the butter-cellar, attempting to make holes in the wire grating, with the intention of tossing lighted matches through them.  There was a vast increase of slander, a perfect flood of abuse, the source of which could not be exactly determined.  The fish pavilion was the last one to join in the revolt against the inspector.  The fish-wives liked Florent