"Then don't think. Women should leave that to others," Having delivered which sententious maxim, M. Plon rose with some difficulty from his chair, and gazed round the room. It was a habit of his, but it always frightened Marie, and it frightened her yet more when he turned towards the recess and stood contemplating the curtains. "You keep those so tightly drawn one would--Eh! what's the matter!" For Madame Didier, stooping over the stove, had uttered a sharp feminine shriek. "I have burnt my finger?" she exclaimed, wringing her hand. "That comes of thinking. Does it hurt?" "Hurt! Of course it does." "Let me see," he said coming over. But Marie hastily bound a bit of rag round her hand. "The great thing is to exclude the air," she said quickly. "Then you mean to be on the lookout for these grand robbers, M. Plon?" "Yes, instead of idling away my time up here," he said, rolling towards the door. "But you women dearly love a little gossip, don't you? And though you are not the best of managers, Madame Didier, no one can say you don't work with industry. So keep a good heart. You shall hear if I get the reward." As the sound of his heavy footsteps creaked down the stairs, Jean came out and flung himself on the chair which M. Plon had occupied. "Now that that old idiot has taken himself off, let's see what he was talking about." "Is it true about the robbery?" asked Marie, leaning over his shoulder. "So it seems." "And the reward?" "Twelve thousand francs." "Twelve thousand francs!" repeated his wife in amazement. "Oh, you must be mistaken!" "There are the figures at any rate, see for yourself." "Yes, I see. I suppose it must be so, as it is in the paper; but--but--if we could only have a little part of it!" "Ah, if!" said Jean with a shrug. "But how will you manage? Stand about the corners of the Streets and ask every _escarpe_ that passes?" "I could almost do that," his wife answered stoutly, "when I reflect that with money we might have an advocate, and you might be free. My store grows so slowly, Jean!" Jean dashed the paper to the ground, and thrust his hands through his hair. "Don't talk of it, if you wouldn't madden me!" he exclaimed. "Might--might--I am sick of mights! Cooped up here I can do nothing, but if I had only common luck I might get the end of a clue as well as any other poor devil. I tell you, Marie, I have half a mind to give myself up, and end everything." She clung to him, pale as death. "No, no!" "You'd get on better without me." "No, no!" Jean's tragic air vanished in a rush of real emotion. He put his wife from him and looked at her sorrowfully. "Poor soul!" he said slowly. "And you really mean that I haven't tired you out yet with all my moods and cross words? No? Then, decidedly, we must rub on a little longer still." She embraced him with all the gratitude a woman feels when her good offices are accepted. "To-morrow," she said cheerfully, "to-morrow will bring you some tobacco."