Marching purposely toward them, looking Javogues disdainfully in countenance, came Goursac. So implacable were the glances the two enemies exchanged that they seemed to clash midway in the air. Arrived within ten feet of the group, Goursac turned curtly on his heel and departed toward the bakery without having recognized them by word or nod. The Tapedures cursed; Javogues, following him with his glance, muttered: "Sacré! Girondin, wait a little longer!" Several women passed, among them Nicole, who received a friendly greeting from Javogues, Boudgoust commenting: "Fine woman that, Cramoisin, for all you say!" Cramoisin scowled for an answer, following the girl with a glance of implacable hatred. "Eh, yes," Jambony added, sinking his voice. "As for me, if it weren't for Javogues I'd not keep her long chained up to that cursed Barabant." "Barabant," growled Boudgoust, "is an indulgent. He is forever talking of mercy." "He who speaks of mercy in these days," cried Cramoisin, purposely raising his voice, "is in league with aristocrats. He should be denounced." Javogues turned angrily: "Enough! Barabant is a patriot. I know it!" Boudgoust, who disliked quarrels, interrupted: "Hello, who's this brat?" A girl of six or seven was approaching, carrying in her arms a stool. Javogues, at once suspicious, stopped her. "Who sent you out, my little one?" "Papa." "And who is your father?" "The wig-maker there," she said, showing the shop with her small finger. "He's coming to take my place later." "Ah, your papa is a good Royalist." The child, frightened by his looks, remained twisting from side to side, while Javogues, softening his voice, repeated the question. The child shook her head. "What does he say of us?" It was Boudgoust who put the question. "Don't know." "But he suffers much with this famine, doesn't he?" suggested Cramoisin, slyly. "Oh, yes," she answered, the innocent face brightening. "Papa says we suffer more now than before." Cramoisin, triumphant and smiling, drew back; the child toddled on. "Ah, Citoyen Flaquet," Javogues cried in triumph, "who doesn't dare pass us in the daylight and who regrets the royalty, we hold you at last!" Among the next to leave No. 38 was a girl of sixteen, who, in greeting Javogues, faltered a little in her walk. It was Geneviève, suddenly blossomed into a woman. Her eyes, that formerly were too black and large on her sallow face, were now in fair relief to her cheeks, that had flushed with the glow of womanhood. She moved lightly, and even the carelessness of her dress could not conceal the full figure, erect and flexible. The four men watched her pass on and take her place in the lengthening line. "The best of the lot!" Cramoisin said. "She was ugly enough last year," Boudgoust replied.