with an outlook upon a dark yard, consoling
herself with reflections on the former prosperity of her parents and her
daughter's wealth; and, being always neatly dressed, she had succeeded
already in acquiring the respect of neighbors and tradesmen.

She asked nothing more than not to be confounded with the wives of
workingmen, often less poor than herself, and to be allowed to retain,
in spite of everything, a petty bourgeois superiority. That was her
constant thought; and so the back room in which she lived, and where
it was dark at three in the afternoon, was resplendent with order and
cleanliness. During the day the bed became a couch, an old shawl did
duty as a tablecloth, the fireplace, hidden by a screen, served as a
pantry, and the meals were cooked in modest retirement on a stove no
larger than a foot-warmer. A tranquil life--that was the dream of the
poor woman, who was continually tormented by the whims of an uncongenial
companion.

In the early days of his tenancy, M. Chebe had caused these words to be
inscribed in letters a foot long on the fresh paint of his shop-front:

COMMISSION--EXPORTATION

No specifications. His neighbors sold tulle, broadcloth, linen; he was
inclined to sell everything, but could not make up his mind just what.
With what arguments did his indecision lead him to favor Madame Chebe as
they sat together in the evening!

"I don't know anything about linen; but when you come to broadcloth,
I understand that. Only, if I go into broadcloths I must have a man to
travel; for the best kinds come from Sedan and Elbeuf. I say nothing
about calicoes; summer is the time for them. As for tulle, that's out of
the question; the season is too far advanced."

He usually brought his discourse to a close with the words:

"The night will bring counsel--let us go to bed."

And to bed he would go, to his wife's great relief.

After three or four months of this life, M. Chebe began to tire of it.
The pains in the head, the dizzy fits gradually returned. The quarter
was noisy and unhealthy: besides, business was at a standstill. Nothing
was to be done in any line, broadcloths, tissues, or anything else.

It was just at the period of this new crisis that "Mademoiselle Planus,
my sister," called to speak about Sidonie.

The old maid had said to herself on the way, "I must break it gently."
But, like all shy people, she relieved herself of her burden in the
first words she spoke after enter