We ought to say, however, that there is something more of the patriarchal rigidity of manners to be observed in the Marais than in other quarters of the capital. The people there close their shops a little earlier, and do not sit up quite so late as in the centre of the city; the young women are more submissive in their demeanor toward their parents, the young men do not as yet venture to appear in a salon when they exhale an odor of pipe or cigar. But these shades of difference are very slight, and, doubtless, will very soon blend with the general color. The two messengers walked arm in arm. Sans-Cravate seemed deep in thought; he did not speak, but looked carefully on all sides, scrutinizing everybody who passed; he even tried to look into the shops; in every woman that he saw he fancied that he recognized Bastringuette, whom he had ceased to love, as he believed, but of whom he constantly thought. That is a very poor way of ceasing to love a person. Jean Ficelle whistled and sang and smoked, and tried to enliven his comrade. But he barely replied, and often without rhyme or reason, which proved that he was not listening. Jean Ficelle tried frequently to stop him. When they passed a wine shop, he would say: "Shan't we go in and take a glass? the glass of friendship! no one refuses that." But Sans-Cravate refused; he walked on, saying: "Later--in a minute--I don't want to drink now." "You're getting to be a devilish queer kind of a friend," growled Jean Ficelle; "you make me travel all over Paris dry--do you want me to catch the pip, like a turkey?" At last they reached Rue Barbette, and Sans-Cravate pointed out to his comrade a small fruit shop at some little distance. "That's where Bastringuette's cousin lives." "That one-eyed fruit stall?" "To be sure, as she keeps it." "Well, let's go in and see if your girl's there." "I wouldn't like to have her think I'm watching her. Do you go by alone, and look in; the shop is very small, and you can easily see all the people that are in it; I'll wait here for you." "All right. I'll be skirmisher." He left Sans-Cravate standing at the entrance of a passageway, and walked toward the fruit stall at a mincing gait. He passed the shop twice, looking in both times, then returned to Sans-Cravate. "There's no more Bastringuette than there is crabs in the fruit store," he said. "Your doll ain't there." "Perhaps you didn't look closely." "Oh! yes, I did; it ain't hard to do. There's nobody there except the proprietor, and an old woman who wants carrots, I fancy, for she was hauling 'em all over." "I want to see for myself." And Sans-Cravate walked toward the fruit stall, in his turn. Jean Ficelle followed him, still whistling. When they had passed the shop, Sans-Cravate stopped, and muttered with a distressed expression: "She ain't there!"