But most often she came back to him empty handed; it was
necessary to return to the shop two or three days in succession in order
to obtain her pay. Very happy she, if they did not give her back the
object ordered accompanied by rebukes! Today for instance they had made
a great fuss on account of a miniature painted from the photograph of an
honest fellow deceased, whom she had never seen. The family was
indignant because she had not given him the exact colors of his eyes
and hair. It was necessary to do it all over again. Since she was
disposed rather to look at the comic side of her misadventures, she
laughed courageously about it. But Pierre did not laugh. He was furious.

"Idiots! Triple idiots!"

When Luce showed him the photographs which she had to copy in colors he
thundered in his disdain (Oh, how amused she was at his comical fury!)
at these heads of imbeciles, frozen in solemn smiles. That the dear eyes
of his Luce should have to apply themselves to reproducing and her hands
to tracing the pictures of these mugs seemed to him a profanation. No,
it was too revolting! Copies from the museums were more worth while. But
one could not count on them any more. The last museums had shut their
doors and no longer interested her clients. It was no longer the hour
for Virgin Maries and angels, only for the _poilus_. Every family had
its own, dead or alive, oftener dead, and wanted to eternalize his
features. The wealthier ones wanted colors: work paid for well enough,
but beginning to be scarce; it was needful for her not to be capricious.
Lacking which, all that remained for the time being was the enlarging of
photographs at laughable prices.

The clearest point in all of this was that she no longer had any reason
to spend her time in Paris: no more copies in the museum; all that was
needed being, to go to the shop to collect and bring back the orders
every two or three days; the work itself could be done at home. That was
not exactly what the two children liked. They continued to stroll about
the streets, unable to decide on taking up the way to the station. Since
they felt weary and the icy fog pierced them through, they went into a
church; and there, seated most properly in the corner of a chapel, they
talked in low voices about the little common-place affairs of their life
while they looked at the stained-glass windows. From time to time there
fell a silence; and their souls, delivered from mere words (it was not