One could smell the springtime in the air, a vague odor of hyacinth and lilac.
Mamma Delobelle had laid aside her work, and, before closing the window, leaned upon the sill listening to all these noises of a great toiling city, taking delight in walking through the streets when its day's work was ended.

From time to time she spoke to her daughter, without turning her head.
"Ah! there's Monsieur Sigismond.

How early he leaves the factory to-night! It may be because the days are lengthening so fast, but I don't think it can be seven o'clock.

Who can that man be with the old cashier ?--What a funny thing!--One would say--Why, yes!--One would say it was Monsieur Frantz.

But that isn't possible.