of filth and empty them in the
street!"

The next morning Lisa went straight up to Florent's bedroom and settled
herself there with perfect equanimity. She felt certain that she would
not be disturbed, and, moreover, she had made up her mind to tell a
falsehood and say that she had come to see if the linen was clean,
should Florent by any chance return. Whilst in the shop, however, she
had observed him busily engaged in the fish market. Seating herself in
front of the little table, she pulled out the drawer, placed it upon her
knees, and began to examine its contents, taking the greatest care to
restore them to their original positions.

First of all she came upon the opening chapters of the work on Cayenne;
then upon the drafts of Florent's various plans and projects, his
schemes for converting the Octroi duties into taxes upon sales, for
reforming the administrative system of the markets, and all the others.
These pages of small writing, which she set herself to read, bored her
extremely, and she was about to restore the drawer to its place, feeling
convinced that Florent concealed the proofs of his wicked designs
elsewhere, and already contemplating a searching visitation of his
mattress, when she discovered a photograph of La Normande in an
envelope. The impression was rather dark. La Normande was standing up
with her right arm resting on a broken column. Decked out with all
her jewels, and attired in a new silk dress, the fish-girl was smiling
impudently, and Lisa, at the sight, forgot all about her brother-in-law,
her fears, and the purpose for which she had come into the room. She
became quite absorbed in her examination of the portrait, as often
happens when one woman scrutinises the photograph of another at her
ease, without fear of being seen. Never before had she so favourable an
opportunity to study her rival. She scrutinised her hair, her nose, her
mouth; held the photograph at a distance, and then brought it closer
again. And, finally, with compressed lips, she read on the back of it,
in a big, ugly scrawl: "Louise, to her friend, Florent." This quite
scandalised her; to her mind it was a confession, and she felt a strong
impulse to take possession of the photograph, and keep it as a weapon
against her enemy. However, she slowly replaced it in the envelope on
coming to the conclusion that this course would be wrong, and reflecting
that she would always know where to find it should she want it again.

Th