And she, fancying he might be pursued by the portress, lowered her voice. No; as he was about to ring, he had the luck to see the door open to let out a lady and her daughter, who had no doubt come down from the Dauvergnes; and he had been able to come up unperceived. Only there, on the landing, through the door standing ajar, he had just caught sight of the newsvendor woman who was finishing a little washing in a basin. "Let us make as little noise as possible," said he. "Speak low." Séverine replied by squeezing him passionately in her arms and covering his face with silent kisses. This game of mystery, speaking no louder than a whisper, diverted her. "Yes, yes," she said; "you shall see: we will be as quiet as two little mice." She took all kinds of precautions in laying the table: two plates, two glasses, two knives, stopping with a desire to burst out laughing when one article, set down too hastily, rang against another. Jacques, who was watching her, also became amused. "I thought you would be hungry," said he in a low voice. "Why, I am famished!" she answered. "We dined so badly at Rouen!" "Well, then, let me run down and fetch a fowl," he suggested. "Ah! no," said she; "the portress might not let you come up again! No, no, the cake will do." They immediately seated themselves side by side, almost on the same chair; and the cake was divided and eaten amid the frolics of sweethearts. She said she was thirsty, and swallowed two glasses of Malaga, one after the other, which flushed her cheeks. The stove, reddening behind their backs, thrilled them with warmth. But, as he was kissing her on the neck too loudly, she, in her turn, stopped him. "Hush! hush!" she whispered. She made him a sign to listen; and, in the silence, they distinguished a swaying movement to the accompaniment of music, ascending from the Dauvergnes; these young ladies had just arranged a hop. Hard by, the newsvendor was throwing the soapy water from her basin down the sink on the landing. She shut her door. The dancing downstairs had for a moment ceased; and outside, beneath the window, nothing could be heard but a dull rumble, stifled by the snow--the departure of a train, which seemed weeping with low whistles. "An Auteuil train," murmured Jacques. "Ten minutes to twelve."