“Nay, it is nothing, kind sir,” replied Jeanne; “we girls who work for our living must not be too sensitive. My employers have been somewhat exigent, that is all. I did wrong to take it to heart.” “’Tis the way of the bloated capitalist,” rejoined the young man lightly, as he turned to walk by her side. “They grind us, they grind us; perhaps some day they will come under your hands in turn, and then you can pay them out. And so you toil and spin, fair lily! And yet methinks those delicate hands show little trace of labour?” “You wrong me, indeed, sir,” replied Jeanne merrily. “These hands of mine, that you are so good as to admire, do great execution!” “I can well believe that your victims are numerous,” he replied; “may I be permitted to rank myself among the latest of them?” “I wish you a better fortune, kind sir,” answered Jeanne demurely. “I can imagine no more delightful one,” he replied; “and where do you ply your daily task, fair mistress? Not entirely out of sight and access, I trust?” “Nay, sir,” laughed Jeanne, “I work in the market-place most mornings, and there is no charge for admission; and access is far from difficult. Indeed, some complain--but that is no business of mine. And now I must be wishing you a good evening. Nay”--for he would have detained her--“it is not seemly for an unprotected maiden to tarry in converse with a stranger at this hour. _Au revoir_, sir! If you should happen to be in the market-place any morning”----And she tripped lightly away. The youth, gazing after her retreating figure, confessed himself strangely fascinated by this fair unknown, whose particular employment, by the way, he had forgotten to ask; while Jeanne, as she sped homewards, could not help reflecting that for style and distinction, this new acquaintance threw into the shade all the Enguerrands and others she had met hitherto--even in the course of business. IV The next morning was bright and breezy, and Jeanne was early at her post, feeling quite a different girl. The busy little market-place was full of colour and movement, and the gay patches of flowers and fruit, the strings of fluttering kerchiefs, and the piles of red and yellow pottery, formed an artistic setting to the quiet impressive scaffold which they framed. Jeanne was in short sleeves, according to the etiquette of her office, and her round graceful arms showed snowily against her dark blue skirt and scarlet tight-fitting bodice. Her assistant looked at her with admiration. “Hope you’re better, miss,” he said respectfully. “It was just as well you didn’t put yourself out to come yesterday; there was nothing particular to do. Only one fellow, and he said _he_ didn’t care; anything to oblige a lady!” “Well, I wish he’d hurry up now, to oblige a lady,” said Jeanne, swinging her axe carelessly to and fro: “ten minutes past the hour; I shall have to talk to the Mayor about this.”