A silence ensued. His previous violence fell to this feverish resignation. As they were suffocating in the narrow room, heated by the gas-burner, the servant had to open the window again; and the damp, pestilential air from the yard blew into the apartment. A dish of _sauté_ potatoes had appeared, and they helped themselves slowly, without a word. "Look at those two," began Baudu again, pointing with his knife to Geneviève and Colomban. "Ask them if they like your Ladies' Paradise." Side by side in the places where they had found themselves twice a-day for the last twelve years, Colomban and Geneviève were eating slowly, without uttering a word. He, exaggerating the coarse good-nature of his face, seemed to be concealing, behind his drooping eyelashes, the inward flame which was consuming him; whilst she, her head bowed lower beneath her heavy hair, appeared to be giving way entirely, as if a prey to some secret grief. "Last year was very disastrous," explained Baudu, "and we have been obliged to postpone the marriage. Just to please them, ask them what they think of your friends." In order to pacify him, Denise interrogated the young people. "Naturally I can't be very fond of them, cousin," replied Geneviève. "But never fear, every one doesn't detest them." And so speaking she looked at Colomban, who was rolling up some bread-crumbs with an absorbed air. But when he felt that the young girl's gaze was turned upon him, he broke out into a series of violent exclamations: "A rotten shop! A lot of rogues, every man-jack of them! In fact a regular pest in the neighbourhood!" "You hear him! You hear him!" exclaimed Baudu, delighted. "There's one whom they'll never get hold of! Ah! my boy, you're the last of the old stock, we shan't see any more!" But Geneviève, with her severe and suffering look, did not take her eyes off Colomban, but dived into the depths of his heart. And he felt troubled, and again launched out into invective. Madame Baudu was watching them in silence with an anxious air, as if she foresaw another misfortune in this direction. For some time past her daughter's sadness had frightened her, she felt her to be dying. "The shop is left to take care of itself," she said at last, rising from table, in order to put an end to the scene. "Go and see, Colomban; I fancy I heard some one." They had finished, and got up. Baudu and Colomban went to speak to a traveller, who had come for orders. Madame Baudu carried Pépé off to show him some pictures. The servant had quickly cleared the table, and Denise was lingering by the window, looking curiously into the little back-yard, when on turning round she saw Geneviève still in her place, her eyes fixed on the American cloth, which was still damp from the sponge that had been passed over it. "Are you suffering, cousin?" she asked.