And this
time her eyes, instead of turning to the open door, were fixed on
a part of the shop directly opposite her. "Is there some one
there as well, then?" Chupin wondered.
He changed his post of observation, and, by standing on tiptoe, he
succeeded in distinguishing a puny little boy, some three or four
years old, and clad in rags, who was playing with the remnants of
a toy-horse. The sight of this child increased Chupin's
indignation. "So there's a child?" he growled. "The rascal not
only deserts his wife, but he leaves his child to starve! We may
as well make a note of that: and when we settle up our accounts,
he shall pay dearly for his villainy." With this threat he
brusquely entered the shop.
"What do you wish, sir?" asked the woman.
"Nothing; I bring you a letter, madame."
"A letter for me! You must be mistaken."
"Excuse me; aren't you Madame Paul?"
"Yes."
"Then this is for you." And he handed her the missive which
Florent had confided to his care.
Madame Paul took hold of it with some hesitation, eying the
messenger suspiciously meanwhile; but, on seeing the handwriting,
she uttered a cry of surprise. And, turning toward the open door,
she called, "M. Mouchon! M. Mouchon! It's from him--it's from my
husband; from Paul. Come, come!"
A bald-headed, corpulent man, who looked some fifty years of age,
now timidly emerged from the room behind the shop with a cap in
his hand.
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