"Where is my little present?" he inquired. She had bought him a knife to replace one he had lost, and which he had been regretting for the past fortnight. He uttered an exclamation of delight, pronouncing this beautiful new knife superb, with its ivory handle and shining blade. He wanted to use it at once. She was charmed at his joy, and, in fun, made him give her a sou, so that their friendship might not be severed. "To lunch, to lunch!" she repeated. "No, no!" she exclaimed, as he was about to shut the window; "don't close it yet, I beg of you! I am too warm!" She joined him at the window, and remained there a few seconds, leaning on his shoulder, gazing at the vast expanse of the station. For the moment the smoke had disappeared. The copper-coloured disc of the sun descended in the haze behind the houses in the Rue de Rome. At their feet a shunting engine was bringing along the Mantes train, all made up, which was to leave at 4.25. The engine drove it back beside the platform under the marquee, and was unhooked. In the background, beneath the span-roof of the Ceinture line, the shocks of buffers announced the unforeseen coupling-on of extra carriages. And alone, in the middle of the network of rails, with driver and fireman blackened with the dust of the journey, the heavy engine of some slow train stood motionless, as if weary and breathless, with merely a thin thread of steam issuing from a valve. It was waiting for the line to be opened to return to the depôt at Batignolles. A red signal clacked, disappeared, and the locomotive went off. "How gay those little Dauvergnes are!" remarked Roubaud. "Do you hear them thumping on their piano? I saw Henri just now, and he asked me to give you his compliments." "To table, to table!" exclaimed Séverine. And she fell upon the sardines with a hearty appetite, having eaten nothing since she bought the roll at Mantes. Her visits to Paris always made her excited. She was quivering with pleasure at her run through the streets, and still enraptured with her purchases at the Bon Marché. Each spring she spent all her winter savings at one stroke, preferring to purchase everything at the capital, and thus economise the cost of the journey, as she said. Without losing a mouthful, she never paused in her chatter. A trifle confused, and blushing, she ended by letting out the total of the sum she had spent, more than 300 frcs. "The deuce!" remarked Roubaud, startled; "you get yourself up well for the wife of an assistant station-master! But I thought you were only going to buy a little linen and a pair of boots." "Oh! my dear! but I have got such bargains. A piece of silk with such lovely stripes! A hat, in exquisite taste, something to dream of! Ready-made petticoats with embroidered flounces! And all this for next to nothing. I should have paid double at Havre. They are going to send the parcel, and you'll see!"