Florent’s whole body thrilled at the sight.  Then he perceived a woman standing in the sunlight at the door of the shop.  With her prosperous, happy look in the midst of all those inviting things she added to the cherry aspect of the place.  She was a fine woman and quite blocked the doorway.  Still, she was not over stout, but simply buxom, with the full ripeness of her thirty years.  She had only just risen, yet her glossy hair was already brushed smooth and arranged in little flat bands over her temples, giving her an appearance of extreme neatness.  She had the fine skin, the pinky-white complexion common to those whose life is spent in an atmosphere of raw meat and fat.  There was a touch of gravity about her demeanour, her movements were calm and slow; what mirth or pleasure she felt she expressed by her eyes, her lips retaining all their seriousness.  A collar of starched linen encircled her neck, white sleevelets reached to her elbows, and a white apron fell even over the tips of her shoes, so that you saw but little of her black cashmere dress, which clung tightly to her well-rounded shoulders and swelling bosom.  The sun rays poured hotly upon all the whiteness she displayed.  However, although her bluish-black hair, her rosy face, and bright sleeves and apron were steeped in the glow of light, she never once blinked, but enjoyed her morning bath of sunshine with blissful tranquillity, her soft eyes smiling the while at the flow and riot of the markets.  She had the appearance of a very worthy woman.

“That is your brother’s wife, your sister-in-law, Lisa,” Gavard said to Florent.

He had saluted her with a slight inclination of the head.  Then he darted along the house passage, continuing to take the most minute precautions, and unwilling to let Florent enter the premises through the shop, though there was no one there.  It was evident that he felt great pleasure in dabbling in what he considered to be a compromising business.

“Wait here,” he said, “while I go to see whether your brother is alone.  You can come in when I clap my hands.”

Thereupon he opened a door at the end of the passage.  But as soon as Florent heard his brother’s voice behind it, he sprang inside at a bound.  Quenu, who was much attached to him, threw his arms round his neck, and they kissed each other like children.

“Ah! dash it all!  Is it really you, my dear fellow?” stammered the pork butcher.  “I never expected to see you again.  I felt sure you were dead!  Why, only yesterday I was saying to Lisa, ‘That poor fellow, Florent!’”

However, he stopped short, and popping his head into the shop, called out, “Lisa!  Lisa!” Then turning towards a little girl who had crept into a corner, he added, “Pauline, go and find your mother.”

The little one did not stir, however.  She was an extremely fine child, five years of age, with a plump chubby face, bearing a strong resemblance to that of the pork butcher’s wife.  In her arms she was holding a huge yellow cat, which had cheerfully surrendered itself to her embrace, with its legs dangling downwards; and she now squeezed it tightly with her little arms, as if she were afraid that yonder shabby-looking gentleman might rob her of it.