street had
ever given rise to much thought in her mind. She generally had nothing
but a smile in response to her mother's hypotheses, for the old woman
looked on every passer-by as a possible protector for her daughter. And
if such suggestions, so crudely presented, gave rise to no evil thoughts
in Caroline's mind, her indifference must be ascribed to the persistent
and unfortunately inevitable toil in which the energies of her sweet
youth were being spent, and which would infallibly mar the clearness
of her eyes or steal from her fresh cheeks the bloom that still colored
them.

For two months or more the "Black Gentleman"--the name they had given
him--was erratic in his movements; he did not always come down the Rue
du Tourniquet; the old woman sometimes saw him in the evening when he
had not passed in the morning, and he did not come by at such regular
hours as the clerks who served Madame Crochard instead of a clock;
moreover, excepting on the first occasion, when his look had given the
old mother a sense of alarm, his eyes had never once dwelt on the
weird picture of these two female gnomes. With the exception of two
carriage-gates and a dark ironmonger's shop, there were in the Rue du
Tourniquet only barred windows, giving light to the staircases of the
neighboring houses; thus the stranger's lack of curiosity was not to be
accounted for by the presence of dangerous rivals; and Madame Crochard
was greatly piqued to see her "Black Gentleman" always lost in thought,
his eyes fixed on the ground, or straight before him, as though he hoped
to read the future in the fog of the Rue du Tourniquet. However, one
morning, about the middle of September, Caroline Crochard's roguish face
stood out so brightly against the dark background of the room, looking
so fresh among the belated flowers and faded leaves that twined round
the window-bars, the daily scene was gay with such contrasts of light
and shade, of pink and white blending with the light material on which
the pretty needlewoman was working, and with the red and brown hues of
the chairs, that the stranger gazed very attentively at the effects of
this living picture. In point of fact, the old woman, provoked by her
"Black Gentleman's" indifference, had made such a clatter with her
bobbins that the gloomy and pensive passer-by was perhaps prompted to
look up by the unusual noise.

The stranger merely exchanged glances with Caroline, swift indeed, but
enough to effect a