I did not linger; the next minute I was in an adjoining street. The shop would not run away, and the proprietor would not run away. I could afford to wait.
I did wait for an hour and more before I sauntered again through that particular street. The sign was finished, and stared me in the face. I could have hugged myself when I saw the full name of Lourbet on the signboard.
Now, was the name that of a woman, and was her Christian name Annette? Half a dozen persons were looking up at it in admiration of the painter's skill. One, however, a little man who appeared to have been drinking was regarding it with wrath and dissatisfaction; he even went so far as to shake his fist at it. He was a most disreputable looking character, and evidently a confirmed toper. As he held up his fist a woman darted from the shop, and standing at the door fired one word at him.
"Pig!"
In response to which he directed his fist towards her face. This so inflamed her that she flew at him, and, seizing him by the collar, shook him with such violence that he fell to the ground the moment he was released. By this time a crowd had gathered, whose sympathies were entirely on her side. They jeered and laughed at the man, with whom they appeared to be acquainted, and who lay in a state of collapse. Not that he was hurt, except, as a matter of course, in his feelings, but he was afraid to rise and risk a second shaking at the hands of the woman, who seemed to be smarting under a sense of injury. To my surprise she became suddenly quite calm and composed, and stood looking down upon him with a disdainful smile on her thin, white lips.
"It is well done, Madame Lourbet," cried a Frenchwoman in the crowd. "It is as he deserves. I would wring his neck if he had served me so."
"Thank you, madame," replied Madame Lourbet, "for the name. It is my own. Behold it, pig!" Addressing her discomfited foe, and pointing to the newly-painted sign. "I r-r-renounce you. Come to me no more. Begone!"
There was a melodramatic touch in her words, but not in her utterance of them. Had I not witnessed it I could hardly have believed that they were spoken by the woman who had behaved with so much violence. The cold, passionless voice was, in my judgment, the result of long training, and I detected in her so many little resemblances to the Annette portrayed by John Fordham in his confession that I did not doubt I had found her at last. I was careful to keep out of her sight, having determined to seek enlightenment first from the man, for I was curious to learn the meaning of this singular scene.
The approach of a policeman put an end to it. The crowd dissolved, Madame Lourbet returned to her shop, and the man, whose furtive looks had followed her movements, slowly picked himself up. If he had been inclined to appeal against the judgment which had been pronounced he was manifestly not in a condition to do so just now; seemingly recognizing this, he slunk off with the air of a whipped cur.
The policeman took no notice of him, and was soon out of sight; I kept in his track till he halted at the door of a public-house and fumbled in his pockets. Finding nothing there he relapsed into a state of maudlin despair. This was my opportunity, and I took advantage of it. Over a friendly glass or two, he drinking my share and his own with cheerful alacrity, he ventilated his grievances.