no pleasure in life.  All the dreadful stories and reports one heard were enough to worry one to death.  And it was all owing to that man, that dreadful Florent.  Now beautiful Lisa and the beautiful Norman have sensibly made friends again.  It was their duty to do so for the sake of the peace and quietness of us all.  Everything will go on satisfactorily now, you’ll find.  Ah! there’s poor Monsieur Quenu laughing yonder!”

Quenu had again come on to the footway, and was joking with Madame Taboureau’s little servant.  He seemed quite gay and skittish that morning.  He took hold of the little servant’s hands, and squeezed her fingers so tightly, in the exuberance of his spirits, that he made her cry out.  Lisa had the greatest trouble to get him to go back into the kitchen.  She was impatiently pacing about the shop, fearing lest Florent should make his appearance; and she called to her husband to come away, dreading a meeting between him and his brother.

“She’s getting quite vexed,” said Mademoiselle Saget.  “Poor Monsieur Quenu, you see, knows nothing at all about what’s taking place.  Just look at him there, laughing like a child!  Madame Taboureau, you know, said that she should have nothing more to do with the Quenus if they persisted in bringing themselves into discredit by keeping that Florent with them.”

“Well, now, I suppose, they will stick to the fortune,” remarked Madame Lecoeur.

“Oh, no, indeed, my dear.  The other one has had his share already.”

“Really?  How do you know that?”

“Oh, it’s clear enough, that is!” replied the old maid after a momentary hesitation, but without giving any proof of her assertions.  “He’s had even more than his share.  The Quenus will be several thousand francs out of pocket.  Money flies, you know, when a man has such vices as he has.  I dare say you don’t know that there was another woman mixed up in it all.  Yes, indeed, old Madame Verlaque, the wife of the former inspector; you know the sallow-faced thing well enough.”

The others protested that it surely wasn’t possible.  Why, Madame Verlaque was positively hideous!

“What! do you think me a liar?” cried Mademoiselle Saget, with angry indignation.  “Why, her letters to him have been found, a whole pile of letters, in which she asks for money, ten and twenty francs at a time.  There’s no doubt at all about it.  I’m quite certain in my own mind that they killed the husband between them.”

La Sarriette and Madame Lecoeur were convinced; but they were beginning to get very impatient.  They had been waiting on the footway for more than an hour, and feared that somebody might be robbing their stalls during their long absence.  So Mademoiselle Saget began to give them some further interesting information to keep them from going off.  Florent could not have taken to flight, said she; he was certain to return, and it would be very interesting to see him arrested.  Then she went on to describe the trap that had been laid for him, while Madame Lecoeur and La Sarriette continued scrutinising the house from top to bottom, keeping watch upon every opening, and at each moment expecting to see the hats of the detectives appear at one of the doors or windows.