“Ah, you will be sorry for this, on my word of honour!” Denise ran away. Just at that moment the bell rang; but troubled, still shuddering, she forgot Robineau, and went straight to her counter, not daring to go down again. As the sun fell on the frontage of the Place Gaillon of an afternoon, they were all stifling in the first floor rooms, notwithstanding the grey linen blinds. A few customers came, put the young ladies into a very uncomfortable, warm state, and went away without buying anything. Every one was yawning even under Madame Aurélie's big sleepy eyes. Towards three o'clock, Denise, seeing the first-hand falling off to sleep, quietly slipped off, and resumed her journey across the shop, with a busy air. To put the curious ones, who might be watching her, off the scent, she did not go straight to the silk department; pretending to want something in the lace department, she went up to Deloche, and asked him a question; then, on the ground-floor, she passed through the printed cottons department, and was just going into the cravat one, when she stopped short, startled and surprised. Jean was before her. “What! it's you?” she murmured, quite pale. He had on his working blouse, and was bare-headed, with his hair in disorder, the curls falling over his girlish face. Standing before a show-case of narrow black neckties, he appeared to be thinking deeply. “What are you doing here?” resumed Denise. “What do you think?” replied he. “I was waiting for you. You won't let me come. So I came in, but haven't said anything to anybody. You may feel quite safe. Pretend not to know me, if you like.” Some salesmen were already looking at them with astonishment Jean lowered his voice. “She wanted to come with me you know. Yes, she is close by, opposite the fountain. Give me the fifteen francs quick, or we are done for as sure as the sun is shining on us!” Denise lost her head. The lookers-on were grinning, listening to this adventure. And as there was a staircase behind the cravat department leading to the lower floor, she pushed her brother along, and quickly led him below. Downstairs he continued his story, embarrassed, inventing his facts, fearing not to be believed. “The money is not for her. She is too respectable for that. And as for her husband, he does not care a straw for fifteen francs. Not for a million would he allow his wife. A glue manufacturer, I tell you. People very well off indeed. No, it's for a low fellow, one of her friends, who has seen us together; and if I don't give him this money this evening----”