“ Ah! there she is!” exclaimed Madame Tuvache.
But it was impossible because of the lathe to hear what she was saying.
At last these ladies thought they made out the word “francs,” and Madame Tuvache whispered in a low voice—
“ She is begging him to give her time for paying her taxes.”
“ Apparently!” replied the other.
They saw her walking up and down, examining the napkin-rings, the candlesticks, the banister rails against the walls, while Binet stroked his beard with satisfaction.
“ Do you think she wants to order something of him?” said Madame Tuvache.
“ Why, he doesn’t sell anything,” objected her neighbour.
The tax-collector seemed to be listening with wide-open eyes, as if he did not understand. She went on in a tender, suppliant manner. She came nearer to him, her breas
