"Evariste, you are noble, you are good, you are generous! In the hall there, your voice, so gentle and manly, went right through me with its magnetic waves. It electrified me. I gazed at you on your bench, I could see no one but you. But you, dear heart, you never guessed I was there? Nothing told you I was present? I sat in the gallery in the second row to the right. By heaven! how sweet it is to do the right! you saved that unhappy man's life. Without you, it was all over with him; he was as good as dead. You have given him back to life and the love of his friends. At this moment he must bless you. Evariste, how happy I am and how proud to love you!" Arm in arm, pressed close to one another, they went along the streets; their bodies felt so light they seemed to be flying. They went to the _Amour peintre_. On reaching the Oratoire: "Better not go through the shop," Elodie suggested. She made him go in by the main coach-door and mount the stairs with her to the suite of rooms above. On the landing she drew out of her reticule a heavy iron key. "It might be the key of a prison," she exclaimed, "Evariste, you are going to be my prisoner." They crossed the dining-room and were in the girl's bedchamber. Evariste felt upon his the ardent freshness of Elodie's lips. He pressed her in his arms; with head thrown back and swooning eyes, her hair flowing loose over her relaxed form, half fainting, she escaped his hold and ran to shoot the bolt.... The night was far advanced when the _citoyenne_ Blaise opened the outer door of the flat for her lover and whispered to him in the darkness. "Good-bye, sweetheart! it is the hour my father will be coming home. If you hear a noise on the stairs, go up quick to the higher floor and don't come down till all danger is over of your being seen. To have the street-door opened, give three raps on the _concierge's_ window. Good-bye, my life, good-bye, my soul!" When he found himself in the street, he saw the window of Elodie's chamber half unclose and a little hand pluck a red carnation, which fell at his feet like a drop of blood. FOOTNOTES: [5] _Grands Jours_,--under the ancien regime, an extraordinary assize held by judges specially appointed by the King and acting in his name. XII One evening when old Brotteaux arrived in the Rue de la Loi bringing a gross of dancing-dolls for the _citoyen_ Caillou, the toy-merchant, the latter, a soft-spoken, polite man as a rule, stood there stiff and stern among his dolls and punch-and-judies and gave him a far from gracious welcome. "Have a care, _citoyen_ Brotteaux," he began, "have a care! There is a time to laugh, and a time to be serious; jokes are not always in good taste. A member of the Committee of Security of the Section, who inspected my establishment yesterday, saw your dancing-dolls and deemed them anti-revolutionary." "He was jesting!" declared Brotteaux.