“there were whole rows of tonsorial parlors, and every one had enough to do.” Madame Laroque sniffed, as she always did in his presence.
“Did you see her hat?” she asked.
“I did, and it was very nice.”
“Nice! with the flowers all on one side? I wouldn’t go to St. Thérèse with it on.” St. Thérèse was the postmaster’s native place.
“The girl has no taste,” she continued.
“Well, if she hasn’t, you needn’t be afraid of her.”
“There will be no choice between you,” said the retired hairdresser, maliciously.
But there was a choice between them, and all the young girls of Viger chose Mademoiselle Viau. It was said she had such an eye; she would take a hat and pin a bow on here, and loop a ribbon there, and cast a flower on somewhere else, all the time surveying her work with her head on one side and her mouth bristling with pins. “There, how do you like that?—put it on—no, it is not becoming—wait!” and in a trice the desired change was made. She had no lack of work from the first; soon she had too much to do. At all hours of the day she could be seen sitting at her window, working, and “she must be making money fast,” argued Madame Laroque, “for she spends nothing.” In truth, she spent very little—she lived so plainly. Three times a week she took a fresh twist from the baker, once a day, the milkman left a pint of milk, and once every week mademoiselle herself stepped out to the butcher’s and bought a pound of steak. Occasionally she mailed a letter, which she always gave into the hands of the postmaster; if he was not there she asked for a pound of tea or something else that she needed. She was fast friends with Cuerrier, but with no one else, as she never received visitors. Once only did a young man call on her. It was young Jourdain, the clerk in the dry-goods store. He had knocked at the door and was admitted. “Ah!” said Madame Laroque, “it is the young men who can conquer.” But the next moment Monsieur Jourdain came out, and, strangely enough, was so bewildered as to forget to put on his hat. It was not this young man who could conquer.
“There is something mysterious about that young person,” said Madame Laroque between her teeth.
“Yes,” replied Cuerrier, “very mysterious—she minds her own business.”
“Bah!” said the widow, “who can tell what her business is, she who comes from no one knows where? But I’ll find out what all this secrecy means, trust me!”
So the widow watched the little house and its occupant very closely, and these are some of the things she saw: Every morning an open door and crumbs for the birds, the watering of the geranium, which was just going to flower, a small figure going in and out, dressed in gray, and, oftener than anything else, the same figure sitting at the window, working. This continued for a year with little variation, but still the widow watched. Every one else had accepted the presence of the new resident as a benefaction. They had got accustomed to her. They called her “the little milliner.” Old Cuerrier called her “the little one in gray.” But she was not yet adjusted in the widow’s system of things. She laid a plot with her second cousin, which was that the cousin should get a hat made by Mademoiselle Viau, and that she should ask her some questions.
“Mademoiselle Viau, were you born in the city?”
“I do not think, Mademoiselle, that green will become you.”
“No, perhaps not. Where did you live before you came here?”
“Mademoiselle, this gray shape is very pretty.” And so on.
That plan would not work.
But before long something very suspicious happened. One evening, just about dusk, as Madame Laroque was walking up and down in front of her door, a man of a youthful appearance came quickly up the street, stepped upon Mademoiselle Viau’s platform, opened the door without knocking, and walked in. Mademoiselle was working in the last vestige of daylight, and the widow watched her like a lynx. She worked on unconcernedly, and when it became so dark that she could not see she lit her lamp and pulled down the curtain. That night Madame Laroque did not go into Cuerrier’s. It commenced to rain, but she put on a large frieze coat of the deceased Laroque and crouched in the dark. She was very much interested in this case, but her interest brought no additional knowledge. She had seen the man go in; he was rather young and about the medium height, and had a black mustache; she could remember him distinctly, but she did not see him come out.
The next morning Mademoiselle Viau’s curtain went up as usual, and as it was her day to go to the butcher’s she went out. While she was away Madame Laroque took a long look in at the side window, but there was nothing to see except the lounge and the table.
While Madame Laroque had been watching in the rain, Cuerrier was reading to Villeblanc from Le Monde. “Hello!” said he, and then went on reading to himself.
“Have you lost your voice?” asked Villeblanc, getting nettled.
“No, no; listen to this—‘Daring Jewel Robbery. A Thief in the Night.’ ” These were the headings of the column, and then followed the particulars. In the morning the widow borrowed the paper, as she had been too busy the night before to come and hear it read. She looked over the front page, when her eye caught the heading, “Daring Jewel Robbery,” and she read the whole story. As she neared the end her eyebrows commenced to travel up her forehead, as if they were going to hide in her hair, and with an expression of surprise she tossed the paper to her second cousin.
“Look here!” she said, “read this out to me.”
The second cousin commenced to read at the top.
“No, no! right here.”
“ ‘The man Durocher, who is suspected of the crime, is not tall, wears a heavy mustache, has gray eyes, and wears an ear-ring in his left ear. He has not been seen since Saturday.’ ”
“I told you so!” exclaimed the widow.
“You told me nothing of the kind,” said the second cousin.
“He had no ear-ring in his ear,” said the widow—“but—but—but it was the right ear that I saw. Hand me my shawl!”
“Where are you going?”
“I have business; never mind!” She took the paper with her and went straight to the constable.
“But,” said he, “I cannot come.”
“There is no time to be lost; you must come now.”
“But he will be desperate; he will face me like a lion.”
“Never mind! you will have the reward.”
“Well, wait!” And the constable went upstairs to get his pistol.
He came down with his blue coat on. He was a very fat man, and was out of breath when he came to the little milliner’s.
“But who shall I ask for?” he inquired of Madame Laroque.
“Just search the house, and I will see that he does not escape by the back door.” She had forgotten that there was no back door.
“Do you want a bonnet?” asked Mademoiselle Viau. She was on excellent terms with the constable.
“No!” said he, sternly. “You have a man in this house, and I have come to find him.”
“Indeed?” said mademoiselle, very stiffly. “Will you be pleased to proceed?”
“Yes,” said he, taking out his pistol and cocking it. “I will first look downstairs.” He did so, and only frightened a cat from under the stove. No one knew that Mademoiselle Viau had a cat.
“Lead the way upstairs!” commanded the constable.
“I am afraid of your pistol, will you not go first?”
He went first