“A sweet, pretty place, this of yours!” he observed, “quite a little nest for turtle-doves!” Elisabeth Dollon forced a smile: “Oh!” she protested, “you are mistaken, sir; love is not a happiness I can ever hope for.” The workman looked at her with a flattering smile. “It won’t be your fault, then,” he declared; “a pretty girl like you can’t fail ...” But Elisabeth Dollon was not in a mood to listen to the silly speeches the forward fellow might choose to make her. Not wishing, however, to seem too prim and prudish, she adroitly turned the conversation: “How comes it,” she asked, “you’re working on a Sunday?” “Lord! mam’zelle,” replied the workman, “because I go on the spree Mondays; but that’s neither here nor there, we’ve gassed enough, eh? and it’s high time to get to work.” The man laid the rolls of paper he had brought with him on the floor, and opened them out one by one, asking the young lady to make her choice. “D’you prefer the sky-blue ’uns, or the pink, or the light green; there’s some of all sorts—gay and bright and fresh—like your colour, mam’zelle!” But “mam’zelle” took no notice of the compliment, and fixed her choice on a light blue paper; then, as the paper-hanger seemed more inclined to gossip than do his work, she announced: “I’m going into the next room to put various things in order; you’ll call me if you want me presently.” Then something occurred to her of a sudden. “Sir,” she asked the man, “I have a large picture there, too heavy for me to manage; if it’s not troubling you, will you be so kind as to fix it up on the wall?”—to which the workman agreed readily enough: “With all the pleasure in life,” he assured her, “you know all I ask is to make myself agreeable.” Elisabeth thanked him drily, almost regretting she had ever asked the favour. The man’s advances rather frightened her; without quite knowing why, the young girl felt suspicious and began to wish the fellow gone as soon as might be. Meantime the workman began to make hay in the room where he was, a sure sign he was going to do something at last. Mademoiselle Dollon withdrew into the adjoining room, shutting the door of communication behind her. But barely a moment or two had passed since the girl had left the workman to his own devices when she heard a heavy crash followed by a terrific oath from the man’s lips! She dashed to the door and was on the point of re-entering the room where the paper-hanger was at work, when the latter sprang forward and prevented her. “What now, sir!” she cried, “open the door, I say!” But from the other side the workman still barred her entrance: “Don’t come in, mademoiselle, don’t come in!” “But, after all, what’s happening?” she demanded. “Nothing to do with you, don’t come in!” “But I insist; the thing’s ridiculous, I’m in my own house, let me in!”