will myself put the money in the till for what they cost.”
He stood there, looking at her for a moment, and then said—“Lurine, I think you are a little fool. They owe you ever so much more than that. However, I must have the things,” and he gave her back the paper with the caution—“Be sure you let no one see that, and be very certain that you get the right things.” He walked with her as far as the corner of the Rue de Lille. “You are not angry with me?” he asked her before they parted.
“I would do anything for you,” she whispered, and then he kissed her good night.
She got the chemicals when the proprietor was out, and tied them up neatly, as was her habit, afterwards concealing them in the little basket in which she carried her lunch. The proprietor was a sharp-eyed old lynx, who looked well after his shop and his pretty little assistant.
“Who has been getting so much chlorate of potash?” he asked, taking down the jar, and looking sharply at her.
The girl trembled.
“It is all right,” she said. “Here is the money in the till.”
“Of course,” he said. “I did not expect you to give it away for nothing. Who bought it?”
“An old man,” replied the girl, trembling still, but the proprietor did not notice that—he was counting the money, and found it right.
“I was wondering what he wanted with so much of it. If he comes in again look sharply at him, and be able to describe him to me. It seems suspicious.” Why it seemed suspicious Lurine did not know, but she passed an anxious time until she took the basket in her hand and went to meet her lover at the corner of the Rue des Pyramides. His first question was—
“Have you brought me the things?”
“Yes,” she answered. “Will you take them here, now?”
“Not here, not here,” he replied hurriedly, and then asked anxiously, “Did anyone see you take them?”
“No, but the proprietor knows of the large package, for he counted the
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