CHAPTER III
ON that Sunday, ever since eight o'clock, Souvarine had been sitting alone in the parlour of the Avantage, at his accustomed place, with his head against the wall. Not a single collier knew where to get two sous for a drink, and never had the bars had fewer customers. So Madame Rasseneur, motionless at the counter, preserved an irritated silence; while Rasseneur, standing before the iron fireplace, seemed to be gazing with a reflective air at the red smoke from the coal.
Suddenly, in this heavy silence of an over-heated room, three light quick blows struck against one of the window-panes made Souvarine turn his head. He rose, for he recognised the signal which Étienne had already used several times before, in order to call him, when he saw him from without, smoking his cigarette at an empty table. But before the engine-man could reach the door, Rasseneur had opened it, and, recognising the man who stood there in the light from the window, he said to him:
"Are you afraid that I shall sell you? You can talk better here than on the road."
Étienne entered. Madame Rasseneur politely offered him a glass, which he refused, with a gesture. The innkeeper added:
"I guessed long ago where you hide yourself. If I was a spy, as your friends say, I should have sent the police after you a week ago."
"There is no need for you to defend yourself," replied the young man. "I know that you have never eaten that sort of bread. People may have different ideas and esteem each other all the same."
And there was silence once more. Souvarine had gone back to his chair, with his back to the wall and his eyes fixed on the smoke from his cigarette, but his feverish fingers were moving restlessly, and he pushed them over his knees, seeking the warm fur of Poland, who was absent this evening; it was an unconscious
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