As Monsieur Verlaque was helping him to extricate himself from the crowd, they found themselves face to face with the handsome Norman.  She remained stock-still in front of them, and with her queenly air inquired: 

“Well, is it quite settled?  You are going to desert us, Monsieur Verlaque?”

“Yes, yes,” replied the little man; “I am going to take a rest in the country, at Clamart.  The smell of the fish is bad for me, it seems.  Here, this is the gentleman who is going to take my place.”

So speaking he turned round to introduce Florent to her.  The handsome Norman almost choked; however, as Florent went off, he fancied he could hear her whisper to her neighbours, with a laugh:  “Well, we shall have some fine fun now, see if we don’t!”

The fish-wives had begun to set out their stalls.  From all the taps at the corners of the marble slabs water was gushing freely; and there was a rustling sound all round, like the plashing of rain, a streaming of stiff jets of water hissing and spurting.  And then, from the lower side of the sloping slabs, great drops fell with a softened murmur, splashing on the flagstones where a mass of tiny streams flowed along here and there, turning holes and depressions into miniature lakes, and afterwards gliding in a thousand rills down the slope towards the Rue Rambuteau.  A moist haze ascended, a sort of rainy dust, bringing fresh whiffs of air to Florent’s face, whiffs of that salt, pungent sea breeze which he remembered so well; while in such fish as was already laid out he once more beheld the rosy nacres, gleaming corals, and milky pearls, all the rippling colour and glaucous pallidity of the ocean world.

That first morning left him much in doubt; indeed, he regretted that he had yielded to Lisa’s insistence.  Ever since his escape from the greasy drowsiness of the kitchen he had been accusing himself of base weakness with such violence that tears had almost risen in his eyes.  But he did not dare to go back on his word.  He was a little afraid of Lisa, and could see the curl of her lips and the look of mute reproach upon her handsome face.  He felt that she was too serious a woman to be trifled with.  However, Gavard happily inspired him with a consoling thought.  On the evening of the day on which Monsieur Verlaque had conducted him through the auction sales, Gavard took him aside and told him, with a good deal of hesitation, that “the poor devil” was not at all well off.  And after various remarks about the scoundrelly Government which ground the life out of its servants without allowing them even the means to die in comfort, he ended by hinting that it would be charitable on Florent’s part to surrender a part of his salary to the old inspector.  Florent welcomed the suggestion with delight.  It was only right, he considered, for he looked upon himself simply as Monsieur Verlaque’s temporary substitute; and besides, he himself really required nothing, as he boarded and lodged with his brother.