the stall of Marie Famette.

"Nicolas is out of favor with Monsieur Roussel: he has worked badly in
the lumber-yard," says La Mere Robillard.

"Chut! chut!" says her gossip, Madelaine Manget, and she gives at the
same time a pat to a refractory chicken. "Nicolas looks too hard at
Marie Famette. Ma foi! there are men in the manger as well as dogs. If
Monsieur Leon wants Marie to be for his eyes only, why does he not ask
for her and marry her, the proud simpleton?"

"Ah, but look you, Madelaine, Leon is not proud: he never turns a poor
man from his door without a morsel to quiet hunger, and he must be
clever or his business would not prosper."

La Mere Manget shrugs her shoulders. "Will you then not buy turkeys at
eleven francs the couple, ma belle dame?" she cries shrilly to a
passer-by.

While Marie Famette recovers herself, Nicolas answers Mam'selle Lesage.
"Pardon, Mam'selle Lesage, but Mam'selle Marie is not alone," he says,
raising his hat with exquisite politeness--Alphonse Poiseau tries to
follow suit, but his bow is stiff and pompous--"the whole market is her
body-guard, and she permits Monsieur Poiseau and myself to act as
sentinels." He throws an insinuating glance at Marie, which deepens the
gloom on Leon Roussel's face.

Elise Lesage has taken in the whole situation, and she knows exactly
where to look for the timber-merchant. An uneasy consciousness makes
Marie follow her glance: she looks red and confused when she sees Leon's
stern, disapproving face. His eyes are fixed on her as she looks across,
but he withdraws them instantly and turns to Monsieur Houlard.

Marie bites her pretty red under-lip: she can hardly keep from crying:
"If we were alone and he scolded me, I would not mind; but he has no
right to frown at me before the whole town. It is enough to compromise
me. It will be said presently that I am a bold girl, while I only amuse
myself, and never move a step from my stall to speak to any one. It is
too bad!"

She gulps down a lump in her throat, and gives Nicolas Marais a smile
that makes the clockmaker long to knock his rival's head against the
gray buttress of the old church.

"Sentinels!" Elise Lesage laughs. "Is Marie afraid, then, that some one
will steal her?"

"Marie is afraid of nothing, Mademoiselle Lesage." The little beauty is
glad to be able to vent her vexation on some one. "What right has she to
call me Marie?" she says to Nicolas in a very audible under-tone.

Mademoise