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was lingering in the doorway.
    "Come in, come in," said the man and closed the door behind them. He led the way across the courtyard and up some stairs to a small apartment. He told them to wait in a cramped sitting room in which the shutters were closed and piles of papers and leaflets lay on the surface of every table and chair. He returned and pulled back a curtain, letting in some light on the cramped and squalid room.
    He waved his hand at it and apologized. "There are five of us living in this little place at the moment." He held out his hand to Stephen. "My name is Lucien Lebrun."
    They shook hands and Lucien turned to Madame Azaire. "Have you heard the news? They have agreed to take back the ten men they sacked last week. They won't back down on the question of pay, but still, it's a start." Feeling Stephen's quizzical eyes on her, Madame Azaire said, "You must wonder what I'm doing here, Monsieur. I bring food to Monsieur Lebrun from time to time and he gives it to one of the dyers' families. Some of them have five or six children--even more in some cases--and they find it hard to live."
    "I see. And your husband doesn't know."
    "He doesn't know. I couldn't involve myself with his workers one way or another but the dyers are a separate group of people, as you know."
    "Don't be apologetic!" said Lucien. "A gift of food is just an act of Christian charity. And in any case, the injustice done to my people is outrageous. Last week at the local meeting of the syndicate--"
    "Don't start on that again." Madame Azaire laughed.
    Lucien smiled. "I despair of you, Madame."
    Stephen felt an acid worry at the familiar way in which Lucien addressed Madame Azaire. He did not feel particularly concerned with the politics of the strike or the ethical nicety of Madame Azaire's position. He only wanted to know how she had come to be on such easy terms with this forceful young man.
    He said, "I think it's time I went back to the factory. Your husband is going to show me the finishing process."
    "You work with Azaire?" Lucien was dumbfounded.
    "I work for an English company who have sent me here for a short time."
    "You speak very good French for an Englishman." I learned it in Paris."
    "And what has he told you about the dyers' strike?"
    Stephen remembered Azaire's remark about "little Lucien."
    "Not very much. I think he will be more worried when it begins to affect his own factory."
    Lucien gave a short, animal laugh. "That won't be long, I can assure you. Madame, will you have something to drink?"
    "That's very kind. Perhaps a glass of water."
    Lucien disappeared and Stephen lingered, unwilling to leave Madame Azaire.
    "You mustn't think badly of me, Monsieur," she said.
    "Of course not," said Stephen, pleased that she should care what he thought of her.
    "I am loyal to my husband."
    Stephen said nothing. He heard Lucien's footsteps approaching. He reached forward, laid his hand on Madame Azaire's arm, and kissed her cheek. He left at once, before he could see the blood he had raised, calling, "Good-bye," as though his kiss might have been merely a polite farewell.
    *
    Isabelle Azaire, born Fourmentier, came from a family that lived near Rouen. She was the youngest of five sisters and had disappointed her father by not being the son he had wanted.
    As the youngest child, she lived life unregarded by her parents, who by the time their fifth daughter was born no longer found much to charm them in the noises and changes of childhood. Two of her elder sisters, Béatrice and Delphine, had early in their lives formed an alliance against the remote tyranny of their father and Madame Fourmentier's manipulative indolence. They were both lively, quickwitted girls with various talents that went unnoticed and unencouraged by their parents. They developed a shared selfishness that prevented them from venturing far from their own mutual reassurance.
    The eldest sister, Mathilde, was given to outbursts of temper and to sulks that could last for