like
scoring a victory--the other one almost choked with spleen. Every day
they would scrutinise and count each other's customers, and manifest the
greatest annoyance if they thought that the "big thing over the way" was
doing the better business. Then they spied out what each had for lunch.
Each knew what the other ate, and even watched to see how she digested
it. In the afternoon, while the one sat amidst her cooked meats and the
other amidst her fish, they posed and gave themselves airs, as though
they were queens of beauty. It was then that the victory of the day was
decided. The beautiful Norman embroidered, selecting the most delicate
and difficult work, and this aroused Lisa's exasperation.

"Ah!" she said, speaking of her rival, "she had far better mend her
boy's stockings. He's running about quite barefooted. Just look at that
fine lady, with her red hands stinking of fish!"

For her part, Lisa usually knitted.

"She's still at that same sock," La Normande would say, as she watched
her. "She eats so much that she goes to sleep over her work. I pity her
poor husband if he's waiting for those socks to keep his feet warm!"

They would sit glowering at each other with this implacable hostility
until evening, taking note of every customer, and displaying such keen
eyesight that they detected the smallest details of each other's dress
and person when other women declared that they could see nothing at
such a distance. Mademoiselle Saget expressed the highest admiration for
Madame Quenu's wonderful sight when she one day detected a scratch on
the fish-girl's left cheek. With eyes like those, said the old maid,
one might even see through a door. However, the victory often remained
undecided when night fell; sometimes one or other of the rivals was
temporarily crushed, but she took her revenge on the morrow. Several
people of the neighbourhood actually laid wagers on these contests, some
backing the beautiful Lisa and others the beautiful Norman.

At last they ended by forbidding their children to speak to one another.
Pauline and Muche had formerly been good friends, notwithstanding the
girl's stiff petticoats and lady-like demeanour, and the lad's tattered
appearance, coarse language, and rough manners. They had at times played
together at horses on the broad footway in front of the fish market,
Pauline always being the horse and Muche the driver. One day, however,
when the boy came in all simplicity to seek his p