Gamelin was handed a report of Maubel's first semi-private examination and he was struck by what it revealed of the young man's character, which he took to agree with what he believed to be that of Elodie's betrayer. Thereafter he spent long hours in the private room of the Clerk of the Court, poring eagerly over the papers relating to this case. His suspicion received a remarkable confirmation on his discovering in a note-book belonging to the _emigre_, but long out of date, the address of the _Amour peintre_, in company, it is true, with those of the _Green Monkey_, the _Dauphin's Head_, and several more print and picture shops. But when he was informed that in this same note-book had been found three or four petals of a red carnation carefully wrapped in a piece of silk paper, remembering how the red carnation was Elodie's favourite flower, the one she cultivated on her window-sill, wore in her hair and used to give (he had reason to know) as a love-token, Evariste's last doubts vanished. Being now convinced he knew the facts, he resolved to question Elodie, though without letting her know the circumstances that had led him to discover the culprit. As he was climbing the stairs to his lodgings, he perceived even on the lower landings a stifling smell of fruit, and on reaching the studio, found Elodie helping the _citoyenne_ Gamelin to make quince preserve. While the old housewife was kindling the stove and turning over in her mind ways of saving the fuel and moist sugar without prejudicing the quality of the preserves, the _citoyenne_ Blaise, seated in a straw-bottomed chair, with an apron of brown holland and her lap full of the golden fruit, was peeling the quinces, quartering and throwing them into a shallow copper basin. The strings of her coif were thrown back over her shoulders, the meshes of her black hair coiled above her moist forehead; from her whole person breathed a domestic charm and an intimate grace that induced gentle thoughts and voluptuous dreams of tranquil pleasures. Without stirring from her seat, she lifted her beautiful eyes, that gleamed like molten gold, to her lover's face, and said: "See, Evariste, we are working for you. We mean you to have a store of delicious quince jelly to last you the winter; it will settle your stomach and make your heart merry." But Gamelin, stepping nearer, uttered a name in her ear: "Jacques Maubel...." At that moment Combalot the cobbler showed his red nose at the half-open door. He had brought, along with some pairs of shoes he had re-heeled, the bill for the repairs. For fear of being taken for a bad citizen, he made a point of using the new calendar. The _citoyenne_ Gamelin, who liked to see clearly what was what in her accounts, was all astray among the _Fructidors_ and _Vendemiaires_. She heaved a sigh.