"Ma foi, child, but you have sharp eyes!"
"If they weren't sharp, mon vieux, I would still be selling flowers outside the Café Soufflet. Tell me the truth of this thing, Gabriel," she said, settling herself in her chair with the air of one who has come to stay, "it is what I came here to find out."
He glanced at her, then frowned at the floor and shook his head.
"Oh, yes, mon vieux, you will tell me that it is none of my business," she said firmly. "Eh, bien, it is my business—my right to know." And then, as he remained silent, "You are aware that I am not one to be refused."
Gabriel rose from the chair at the desk and paced up and down the narrow apartment, but still he did not speak. And then at last, "What devil put it into your head to come here inquiring of this matter?"
"The devil himself—I——," she said with a gesture. And then, with a little shrug and a sober mien, "You may trust me, Gabriel."
He stopped and sat in his chair again.
"Eh, bien! As you have said. It is your right. But it is no matter to be breathed outside this room."
"It will not be the first time I have kept your secrets."
"I should not tell you."