Up went Thérèse’s head in a trice, and her bold colour mounted. "Hé!"—she snorted contemptuously—"is he the world? Others are not so blind." There was a pause. Rosalie knitted, smiling broadly, whilst Thérèse caught a second apple from a piled basket, and began to play with it. "He is going away," said Rosalie abruptly, and Thérèse dropped the apple, which rolled away into a corner. "Tctt, tctt," clicked Rosalie, "you have an open hand with other folk’s goods, my girl! Yes, certainly Citizen Dangeau is going away, and why not? There is nothing to keep him here that I know of." "For how long?" asked Thérèse, staring out of the window. "One month, two, three—how do I know, my cabbage? It is business of the State, and in such matters, you should know more than I." "When does he go?" "To-morrow," said Rosalie cheerfully, for to torment Thérèse was a most exhilarating employment, and one that she much enjoyed. It vindicated her own virtue, and at the same time indulged her taste for gossip. Thérèse sprang up, and paced the small shop with something wild in her gait. "Why does he go?" she asked excitedly. "He used to smile at me, to look when he passed, and now he goes another way; he turns his head, he elbows me aside. Does he think I am one of those tame milk-and-water misses, who can be taken up one minute and dropped the next? If he thinks that, he is very much mistaken. Who has taken him from me? I insist on knowing; I insist that you tell me!" "Chut," said Rosalie, with placid pleasure, "he never was yours to take, and that you know as well as I." "He looked at me," and Thérèse’s coarse contralto thrilled tragically over the words. "Half Paris does that." Rosalie paused and counted her stitches. "One, two, three, four, knit two together. Why not? you are good to look at. No one has denied it that I know of." "He smiled." Her eyes glared under the close-drawn brows, but Rosalie laughed. "Not if you looked at him like that, I ’ll warrant; but as to smiling—he smiles at me too, dear cousin." Thérèse flung herself into a chair, with a sharp-caught breath. "And at whom else? Tell me that, tell me that, for there is some one—some one. He thinks of her, he dreams of her, and pushes past other people as if they were posts. If I knew, if I only knew who it was——" "Well?" said Rosalie curiously. "I ’d twist her neck for her, or get Mme Guillotine to save me the trouble," said Thérèse viciously. As she spoke, the door swung open, and Mlle de Rochambeau came in. She had been out to make some trifling purchase, and, nervous of the streets, she had hurried a good deal. Haste and the cold air had brought a bright colour to her cheeks, her eyes shone, and her breath came more quickly than usual. Thérèse started rudely, and seeing her pass through the shop with the air of one at home, she started up, and with a quick spring placed herself between Mademoiselle and the inner door.