no thought of money that
had prompted her in what she had just done. As she crossed the Pont au
Change she grew quite calm again, recovering all her superb equanimity.
On the whole, it was much better, she felt, that others should have
anticipated her at the Prefecture. She would not have to deceive Quenu,
and she would sleep with an easier conscience.

"Have you booked the seats?" Quenu asked her when she returned home.

He wanted to see the tickets, and made Lisa explain to him the exact
position the seats occupied in the dress-circle. Lisa had imagined
that the police would make a descent upon the house immediately after
receiving her information, and her proposal to go to the theatre had
only been a wily scheme for getting Quenu out of the way while the
officers were arresting Florent. She had contemplated taking him for
an outing in the afternoon--one of those little jaunts which they
occasionally allowed themselves. They would then drive in an open cab to
the Bois de Boulogne, dine at a restaurant, and amuse themselves for an
hour or two at some cafe concern. But there was no need to go out now,
she thought; so she spent the rest of the day behind her counter, with
a rosy glow on her face, and seeming brighter and gayer, as though she
were recovering from some indisposition.

"You see, I told you it was fresh air you wanted!" exclaimed Quenu.
"Your walk this morning has brightened you up wonderfully!"

"No, indeed," she said after a pause, again assuming her look of
severity; "the streets of Paris are not at all healthy places."

In the evening they went to the Gaite to see the performance of "La
Grace de Dieu." Quenu, in a frock-coat and drab gloves, with his hair
carefully pomatumed and combed, was occupied most of the time in hunting
for the names of the performers in the programme. Lisa looked superb
in her low dress as she rested her hands in their tight-fitting white
gloves on the crimson velvet balustrade. They were both of them deeply
affected by the misfortunes of Marie. The commander, they thought, was
certainly a desperate villain; while Pierrot made them laugh from the
first moment of his appearance on the stage. But at last Madame Quenu
cried. The departure of the child, the prayer in the maiden's chamber,
the return of the poor mad creature, moistened her eyes with gentle
tears, which she brushed away with her handkerchief.

However, the pleasure which the evening afforded her turned into a
fee