Though from her figure she could not have been more than eighteen, yet in the poise of her head and in the subtile smile, full of grace and piquancy, there showed the coquetry of the woman who plans to please the masculine eye. Suddenly she sprang back, leaving the window vacant. A moment later there emerged opposite the thoughtful face of Barabant. Unaware of her proximity, he swept the courtyard with an indifferent look, and drawing from his pocket the three sous that alone remained to him, he fell into a deep meditation. Presently the sprightly eyes and mischievous profile of the girl returned, cautiously, as though awaiting a challenge. Then, as in the abstraction of his mood he continued to be oblivious to her presence, she advanced to fuller view. Gradually her curiosity became excited by an evident conflict in his moods. At one moment he pulled a long, somber face, and at the next he lapsed into laughter. As human nature cannot endure in silence the spectacle of someone laughing to himself, the girl, unable longer to restrain her interest, called to him with that melody which is natural to the voice of a maiden: "Well, citoyen, are you going to laugh or cry?" At her banter, Barabant started up so suddenly that one of the sous which he had been regarding meditatively slipped from his fingers, bounded on the roof, rolled along the gutter, and disappeared in the water-hole. "Diable! there goes my dinner!" "How so?" the girl said, repressing her laugh at his long face. "I had three; one for lunch, one for dinner, and one for some purchases I intend to make." "Dame! citoyen, three are not many sous." Barabant drew himself up proudly. "Plenty, after to-night." "When your banker returns?" "Exactly." "And I have made you lose your dinner: a bad beginning for neighbors, Citoyen--?" "Citoyen Eugène Barabant. Citoyenne--?" "Nicole." "Nicole--?" "Heavens, isn't Nicole enough? One name is all we need; besides, it would take me too long to find out the other." As she said this, she smiled so unaffectedly that Barabant, forgetting the pangs of hunger, looked on admiringly. "You are a philosopher, Nicole. And what do you do--if it is not indiscreet to ask?" She understood perfectly the hesitancy, but laughed without a trace of disconcertion. "Oh, I work hard; I am a bouquetière. Which reminds me, I must be off to the flower-market." However, she lingered a moment. "And you, citoyen?" "Traveler," Barabant said, with a superb wave of his hand, and then exploded in laughter at the thought. "Citoyenne, tell me something." "Speak." "Have you ever fasted a day?" "Hundreds of times." "If you have but one meal in sight, when is the best time to take it?" "In the middle of the day; something may happen before dinner." Barabant made a wry face. "Seriously, how much have you?" He held up the two sous. "Two sous, and you speak of buying a meal,--a crumb of bread!" "Perhaps," Barabant admitted, "meal is an exaggeration."