to be quietly turning over; and deep breathing she
heard, then a long-drawn sigh, then something not
very unlike a yawn; and all this from beneath her
respectable bed where she kept the cardboard box of
the hat in which she was wont to attend Mass on
Sundays. Madame Roustan was a timid woman by
nature and had long lived in nightly terror of thieves —
that was why, no matter how stifling the weather, she
invariably closed and bolted her shutters.. But now,
though the shutters were bolted as usual, there could
be little doubt that a thief had entered; and she stand-
ing stripped all but down to the skin, which would
place many women at a grave disadvantage. Madame
Roustan felt that God was not kind, for she bitterly
regretted her discarded stays which had now assumed
the importance of armour. All the same she ran over
a long list of saints, for God alone through His saints
could help her.
eO Santi Mario,5 she prayed desperately, feeling
that there must be safety in numbers,, since three
Holy Marys would surely be stronger than one when
it came to smiting an assassin: CO Mary the mother of
James and John; O Mary the sister of the blessed
Virgin, O Mary Magdalene come to my aid. I
beseech you to preserve my life and my virtue!5
Now whether the Holy Three heard her prayer, or
whether Madame Roustan's feminine nerves were
not really so weak as she often imagined, is a question
which must perforce go unanswered. But the fact
remains that snatching up a shawl for propriety's
sake, she peered under the bed, where she found
what was almost worse than a man — a watchful,
determined and aggressive Mireio,
Mireio eyed Madame Roustan's fat calves with an
interest that quite plainly bespoke her intentions; and
as Madame Roustan straightened her back, Mireio
straightened her back, growling darkly. It was clear
D 49