“But I must say I don’t think you are the best of managers,” said M. Plon with a magisterial sweep of his hand which took in all the poor surroundings.  “With your earnings you might do better than you do, Madame Didier.  One mouth to feed, one person to dress—­”

“There is Perine,” faltered poor Marie.

“Yes, there is Perine, and it is true those imbeciles have appetites like wolves.  Still—­well, well, you must not suppose that I am blaming you; on the contrary, it might surprise you to hear—­”

M. Plon was edging his chair a little nearer to Madame Didier, and she thought it was time to interrupt his explanation, so she said briskly: 

“Ah, by the way, what news is there to-day in Le Petit Journal?”

“There is the great robbery.”

“The great robbery!  Where?”

“In the Rue Vivienne.  The paper is full of it—­jewellery, diamonds, plate, treasures of all kinds carried off, chest and all, that’s the wonderful part of it, for a chest is not a thing to hide in your pocket.”

“And have they no clue?” asked Marie, much interested.

“Not yet, but there must have been a cart or a cab, or some vehicle in the affair.  It is clear enough that this belongs to the haute pegre, none of your common burglars would have attempted such a daring stroke; and I would lay a wager, too, that they’re not so far off from here, if they’re in Paris, that is.  I shall keep a sharp look-out, for the reward is fabulous.”

“Really!” said Madame Didier with a sigh.

“One would suppose you wanted it yourself,” said Plon angrily.  “Now what possible good could it do to you?  It is extraordinary that people—­women especially—­can’t be contented, but must always be wishing for what they haven’t got.”

“I was only thinking,” Marie answered apologetically.

“Then don’t think.  Women should leave that to others,” Having delivered which sententious maxim, M. Plon rose with some difficulty from his chair, and gazed round the room.  It was a habit of his, but it always frightened Marie, and it frightened her yet more when he turned towards the recess and stood contemplating the curtains.  “You keep those so tightly drawn one would—­Eh! what’s the matter!”

For Madame Didier, stooping over the stove, had uttered a sharp feminine shriek.

“I have burnt my finger?” she exclaimed, wringing her hand.

“That comes of thinking.  Does it hurt?”

“Hurt!  Of course it does.”

“Let me see,” he said coming over.

But Marie hastily bound a bit of rag round her hand.

“The great thing is to exclude the air,” she said quickly.  “Then you mean to be on the lookout for these grand robbers, M. Plon?”

“Yes, instead of idling away my time up here,” he said, rolling towards the door.  “But you women dearly love a little gossip, don’t you?  And though you are not the best of managers, Madame Didier, no one can say you don’t work with industry.  So keep a good heart.  You shall hear if I get the reward.”