ace of mind; she was too happy to do anything to compromise herself.
However, she glanced at Quenu, whose neck was coarse and ruddy, and
whose shaven chin looked as rough as knotted wood; whereas Marjolin's
chin and neck resembled rosy satin. But then she must not think of him
any more, for he was no longer a child. She regretted it, and could not
help thinking that children grew up much too quickly.

A slight flush came back to her cheeks, and Quenu considered that she
looked wonderfully blooming. He came and sat down beside her at the
counter for a moment or two. "You ought to go out oftener," said he; "it
does you good. We'll go to the theatre together one of these nights, if
you like; to the Gaite, eh? Madame Taboureau has been to see the piece
they are playing there, and she declares it's splendid."

Lisa smiled, and said they would see about it, and then once more she
took herself off. Quenu thought that it was too good of her to take so
much trouble in running about after that brute Gavard. In point of fact,
however, she had simply gone upstairs to Florent's bedroom, the key
of which was hanging from a nail in the kitchen. She hoped to find out
something or other by an inspection of this room, since the poultry
dealer had failed her. She went slowly round it, examining the bed, the
mantelpiece, and every corner. The window with the little balcony was
open, and the budding pomegranate was steeped in the golden beams of the
setting sun. The room looked to her as though Augustine had never left
it--had slept there only the night before. There seemed to be nothing
masculine about the place. She was quite surprised, for she had expected
to find some suspicious-looking chests, and coffers with strong locks.
She went to feel Augustine's summer gown, which was still hanging
against the wall. Then she sat down at the table, and began to read an
unfinished page of manuscript, in which the word "revolution" occurred
twice. This alarmed her, and she opened the drawer, which she saw was
full of papers. But her sense of honour awoke within her in presence of
the secret which the rickety deal table so badly guarded. She remained
bending over the papers, trying to understand them without touching
them, in a state of great emotion, when the shrill song of the
chaffinch, on whose cage streamed a ray of sunshine, made her start. She
closed the drawer. It was a base thing that she had contemplated, she
thought.

Then, as she linge