She invited him to a monster lunch which she gave amongst the hampers in the auction room at the butter market.  The three of them—­herself, Marjolin, and Leon—­completely secluded themselves from the world within four walls of osier.  The feast was laid out on a large flat basket.  There were pears, nuts, cream-cheese, shrimps, fried potatoes, and radishes.  The cheese came from a fruiterer’s in the Rue de la Cossonnerie, and was a present; and a “frier” of the Rue de la Grande Truanderie had given Cadine credit for two sous’ worth of potatoes.  The rest of the feast, the pears, the nuts, the shrimps, and the radishes, had been pilfered from different parts of the market.  It was a delicious treat; and Leon, desirous of returning the hospitality, gave a supper in his bedroom at one o’clock in the morning.  The bill of fare included cold black-pudding, slices of polony, a piece of salt pork, some gherkins, and some goose-fat.  The Quenu-Gradelles’ shop had provided everything.  And matters did not stop there.  Dainty suppers alternated with delicate luncheons, and invitation upon invitation.  Three times a week there were banquets, either amidst the hampers or in Leon’s garret, where Florent, on the nights when he lay awake, could hear a stifled sound of munching and rippling laughter until day began to break.

The loves of Cadine and Marjolin now took another turn.  The youth played the gallant, and just as another might entertain his innamorata at a champagne supper en tete a tete in a private room, he led Cadine into some quiet corner of the market cellars to munch apples or sprigs of celery.  One day he stole a red-herring, which they devoured with immense enjoyment on the roof of the fish market beside the guttering.  There was not a single shady nook in the whole place where they did not indulge in secret feasts.  The district, with its rows of open shops full of fruit and cakes and preserves, was no longer a closed paradise, in front of which they prowled with greedy, covetous appetites.  As they passed the shops they now extended their hands and pilfered a prune, a few cherries, or a bit of cod.  They also provisioned themselves at the markets, keeping a sharp look-out as they made their way between the stalls, picking up everything that fell, and often assisting the fall by a push of their shoulders.

In spite, however, of all the marauding, some terrible scores had to be run up with the “frier” of the Rue de la Grand Truanderie.  This “frier,” whose shanty leaned against a tumble-down house, and was propped up by heavy joists, green with moss, made a display of boiled mussels lying in large earthenware bowls filled to the brim with clear water; of dishes of little yellow dabs stiffened by too thick a coating of paste; of squares of tripe simmering in a pan; and of grilled herrings, black and charred, and so hard that if you tapped them they sounded like wood.  On certain weeks Cadine owed the frier as much as