CHAPTER XI.

That day, Bouthemont was the first to arrive at Madame Desforges's four o'clock tea. Waiting alone in her large Louis XVI. drawing-room, the brasses and brocatel of which shone with a clear gaiety, she rose with an air of impatience, saying, "Well?"

"Well," replied the young man, "when I told him that I should no doubt call on you he formally promised me to come."

"You made him thoroughly understand that I expected the baron to-day?"

"Certainly. That's what appeared to decide him."

They were speaking of Mouret, who, the year before, had suddenly taken such a liking to Bouthemont that he had admitted him to share his pleasures; and had even introduced him to Henriette, glad to have an agreeable fellow always at hand to enliven an acquaintanceship of which he was getting tired. It was thus that Bouthemont had ultimately become the confidant of his employer and the handsome widow; he did their little errands, talked of the one to the other, and sometimes reconciled them. Henriette, in her jealous fits, displayed a familiarity which sometimes surprised and embarrassed him, for she was losing the prudence of a woman of the world who employed all her art to save appearances.

"You ought to have brought him," she exclaimed violently. "I should have been sure then."

"Well," said he, with a good-natured laugh, "it isn't my fault if he escapes so frequently now. Oh! he's very fond of me, all the same. Were it not for him I should be in a bad way at the shop."

His situation at The Ladies' Paradise had really been menaced since the last stock-taking. It was in vain that he talked of the rainy season, they could not overlook the considerable stock of fancy silks left on hand; and as Hutin was improving the occasion--undermining him with the governors with an increase of sly ferocity--he could feel the ground giving way beneath him. Mouret had condemned him, weary already, no doubt, of this witness who prevented him from breaking off with Henriette and tired of an acquaintanceship which yielded no profit. But, in accordance with his usual tactics, he was pushing Bourdoncle forward: it was Bourdoncle and the other partners who insisted on Bouthemont's dismissal at each board meeting; whilst he according to his own account resisted then, defending his friend energetically, at the risk even of getting into serious trouble with the others.

"Well, I shall wait," resumed Madame Desforges. "You know that the girl is to be here at five o'clock. I want to see them face to face. I must discover their secret."

And thereupon she reverted to her long-meditated plan, mentioning in her agitation that she had requested Madame Aurélie to send her Denise to look at a mantle which fitted badly. When she should once have got the young girl in her room, she would find some reason for calling Mouret, and would then act. Bouthemont, who had sat down opposite to her, was gazing at her with his handsome laughing eyes, which he was endeavouring to keep serious. This jovial fellow, with coal-black beard, this dissipated blade whose warm Gascon blood empurpled his cheeks, was thinking that fine ladies were not of much account after all, and let out a nice lot of things when they ventured to open their hearts.

"Come," he made bold to say at last, "what can that matter to you since I assure you that there is nothing whatever between them?"

"Just so!" she cried, "it's because he loves her! I don't care a fig for the others, the chance acquaintances, the friends of a day!"

She spoke of Clara with disdain. She was well aware that Mouret, after Denise's rejection, had fallen back on that tall, red-haired girl, with the horse's head: and he had done this doubtless by calculation; for he maintained her in the department, loading her with presents. Moreover for the last three months he had been leading a terribly dissipated life, squandering his money in costly and stupid caprices, with a prodigality which caused many remarks.

"It's that creature's fault," repeated Henriette. "I feel sure he's ruining himself with others because she repulses him. Besides, what's his money to me? I should have preferred him poor. You know how fond I am of him, you who have become our friend."

She stopped short, half choking, ready to burst into tears; and, in her emotion, she held out her hands to him. It was true, she adored Mouret for his youth and his triumphs, never before had any man thus conquered her; but, at the thought of losing him, she also heard the knell of her fortieth year, and asked herself with terror how she should replace this great affection.

"I'll have my revenge," she murmured, "I'll have my revenge, if he behaves badly!"

Bouthemont continued to hold her hands in his. She was still handsome. But hers would be a troublesome acquaintance to keep up and he did not care for that style of woman. The matter, however, deserved thinking over; perhaps it would be worth his while to risk some annoyance.

"Why don't you set up on your own account?" she asked all at once, drawing her hands away.

For a moment he was astonished. Then he replied: "But it would require an immense sum. Last year I had such an idea in my head. I feel convinced that there are enough customers in Paris for one or two more big shops; but the district would have to be well chosen. The Bon Marché holds the left side of the river; the Louvre occupies the centre of the city; we monopolize, at The Paradise, the rich west-end district. There remains the north, where one might start a rival establishment to the Place Clichy. And I had discovered a splendid position, near the Opera House----"

"Well, why not?" she asked.

He set up a noisy laugh. "Just fancy," he replied, "I was stupid enough to go and talk to my father about it. Yes, I was simple enough to ask him to find me some shareholders at Toulouse."

And he gaily described the anger of the old man who remained buried in his little country shop, full of rage against the great Parisian bazaars. Bursting at the thought of the thirty thousand francs a year which his son earned, he had replied that he would sooner give his money and that of his friends to the hospitals than contribute a copper to one of those great establishments which were the pests of trade.

"Besides," the young man concluded, "it would require millions."

"Suppose they were found?" observed Madame Desforges, quietly.

He looked at her, becoming serious all at once. Was not this merely a jealous woman's remark? However, she did not give him time to question her, but added: "In short, you know what a great interest I take in you. We'll talk about it again."

The outer bell had just rung. She got up, and he, himself, drew back his chair with an instinctive movement, as if some one might have surprised them. Silence reigned in the drawing-room with its gay hangings, and decorated with such a profusion of green plants that there was like a small wood between the two windows. Henriette stood waiting, with her ear towards the door.

"It is he," she murmured.

The footman announced Monsieur Mouret and Monsieur de Vallagnosc. Henriette could not restrain a movement of anger. Why had he not come alone? He must have gone for his friend, fearful of a _tête-à-tête_ with her. However, she smiled and shook hands with both men.

"What a stranger you are becoming! I say the same for you, Monsieur de Vallagnosc."

Her great grief was that she was getting stout, and she now squeezed herself into the tightest fitting black silk dresses, in order to conceal her increasing corpulency. Yet her pretty head, with its dark hair, preserved its pleasing shapeliness. And Mouret could familiarly tell her, as he enveloped her with a look: "It's useless to ask after your health. You are as fresh as a rose."

"Oh! I'm almost too well," she replied. "Besides, I might have died; you would have known nothing about it."

She was examining him also, and thought that he looked tired and nervous, his eyes heavy, his complexion livid.

"Well," she resumed, in a tone which she endeavoured to render agreeable, "I cannot return your compliment; you don't look at all well this evening."

"Overwork!" remarked Vallagnosc.

Mouret shrugged his shoulders, without replying. He had just caught sight of Bouthemont, and nodded to him in a friendly way. During their closer intimacy he himself had been wont to take him away from the department, and bring him to Henriette's during the busiest moments of the afternoon. But times had changed; and he now said to him in an undertone:

"You went away very early. They noticed your departure, and are furious about it."

He referred to Bourdoncle and the other persons who had an interest in the business, as if he were not himself the master.

"Ah!" murmured Bouthemont, anxiously.

"Yes, I want to talk to you. Wait for me, we'll leave together."

Henriette had now sat down again; and, while listening to Vallagnosc, who was announcing that Madame de Boves would probably pay her a visit, she did not take her eyes off Mouret. The latter, again silent, gazed at the furniture, and seemed to be looking for something on the ceiling. Then, as she laughingly complained that she now only had gentlemen at her four o'clock tea, he so far forgot himself as to blurt out:

"I expected to find Baron Hartmann here."

Henriette turned pale. No doubt she well knew that he merely came to her house to meet the baron; still he might have avoided throwing his indifference in her face like that. At that moment the door had opened and the footman was standing behind her. When she had interrogated him by a sign, the servant leant over and said in a very low tone:

"It's for that mantle. Madame wished me to let her know. The young woman is there."

Henriette at once raised her voice, so as to be heard; and all her jealous suffering found relief in these scornfully harsh words: "She can wait!"

"Shall I show her into madame's dressing-room?" asked the servant.

"No, no. Let her stay in the ante-room!"

And, when the servant had gone, she quietly resumed her conversation with Vallagnosc. Mouret, who had relapsed into his former lassitude, had listened in an absent-minded way, without understanding, while Bouthemont, worried by the adventure, remained buried in thought. Almost at that moment, however, the door was opened again, and two ladies were shown in.

"Just fancy," said Madame Marty, "I was alighting at the door, when I saw Madame de Boves coming along under the arcade."

"Yes," explained the latter, "it's a fine day, and my doctor says I must take walking exercise."

Then, after a general hand-shaking, she inquired of Henriette: "So you're engaging a new maid?"

"No," replied the other, astonished. "Why?"

"Because I've just seen a young woman in the ante-room."

Henriette interrupted her, laughing. "It's true; all those shop-girls look like ladies' maids, don't they? Yes, it's a young person come to alter a mantle."

Mouret gazed at her intently, a suspicion flashing across his mind. But she went on with a forced gaiety, explaining that she had bought the mantle in question at The Ladies' Paradise during the previous week.

"What!" asked Madame Marty, "have you deserted Sauveur, then?"

"No, my dear, but I wished to make an experiment. Besides, I was pretty well satisfied with a first purchase I made--a travelling cloak. But this time it has not succeeded at all. You may say what you like, one is horribly rigged out in the big shops. I speak out plainly, even before Monsieur Mouret. He will never know how to dress a woman who is in the least degree stylish."

Mouret did not defend his establishment, but still kept his eyes on her, consoling himself with the thought that she would never have dared to do what he had suspected. And it was Bouthemont who had to plead the cause of The Ladies' Paradise.

"If all the aristocratic ladies who patronize us were to proclaim it," he retorted gaily, "you would be astonished by the names of our customers. Order a garment to measure at our place, it will equal one from Sauveur's and cost you but half the money. But there, just because it's cheaper, it's not so good."

"So it doesn't fit, the mantle you speak of?" resumed Madame de Boves. "Ah! now I remember the young person. It's rather dark in your ante-room."

"Yes," added Madame Marty, "I was wondering where I had seen that figure before. Well! go, my dear, don't stand on ceremony with us."

Henriette assumed a look of disdainful unconcern. "Oh, presently, there is no hurry."

Then the ladies continued the discussion on the garments sold at the large establishments; and afterwards Madame de Boves spoke of her husband, who, said she, had gone to inspect the stud-farm at Saint-Lô; while at the same time Henriette related that, owing to the illness of an aunt, Madame Guibal had been suddenly called into Franche-Comté. Moreover, she did not reckon that day on seeing Madame Bourdelais either, for at the end of every month the latter shut herself up with a needlewoman to look over her young people's clothes. Madame Marty, meantime, seemed agitated by some secret trouble. Her husband's position at the Lycée Bonaparte was menaced, in consequence of the lessons which the poor man gave in certain private establishments where a regular trade was carried on in B.A. diplomas; he now feverishly earned money wherever he could, in order to meet the rage for spending which was pillaging his household; and his wife, on seeing him weeping one evening from fear of dismissal, had conceived the idea of asking her friend Henriette to speak to a director at the Ministry of Public Instruction with whom she was acquainted. Henriette finished by quieting her with a few words. Monsieur Marty, however, was coming himself that afternoon to learn his fate and thank her.

"You look unwell, Monsieur Mouret," all at once observed Madame de Boves.

"Overwork!" repeated Vallagnosc, with ironic apathy.

Mouret quickly rose as if ashamed of forgetting himself in this fashion. He took his accustomed place in the midst of the ladies, and recovered all his agreeable manners. He was now busy with the winter novelties, and spoke of a considerable arrival of lace, whereupon Madame de Boves questioned him as to the price of Alençon point: she felt inclined to buy some. She was, however, now obliged to be sparing of even thirty sous for a cab fare and would return home quite ill from the effects of stopping before the displays in the shop windows. Draped in a mantle which was already two years old, she tried, in imagination, on her queenly shoulders all the most expensive garments she saw; and it was as though they had been torn from off her when she awoke and found herself still wearing her patched-up dresses, without the slightest hope of ever satisfying her passion.

"Baron Hartmann," now announced the footman.

Henriette observed with what pleasure Mouret shook hands with the new arrival. The latter bowed to the ladies, and glanced at the young man with that subtle expression which sometimes illumined his big Alsatian face.

"Always plunged in dress!" he murmured, with a smile; and like a friend of the house, he ventured to add: "There's a charming young person in the ante-room. Who is she?"

"Oh! nobody," replied Madame Desforges, in her ill-natured voice. "Only a shop-girl waiting to see me."

The door had remained half-open as the servant was bringing in the tea. He went out, came in again, placed the china service on the table and then brought some plates of sandwiches and biscuits. In the spacious room, a bright light, softened by the green plants, illumined the brass-work, and bathed the silk hangings in a tender glow; and each time the door opened one could perceive a dim corner of the ante-room, which was only lighted by two ground-glass windows. There, in the gloom, appeared a sombre form, motionless and patient. Denise was standing; there was indeed a leather-covered bench there, but a feeling of pride prevented her from sitting down on it. She felt the insult intended her. She had been there for the last half-hour, without a sign, without a word. The ladies and the baron had taken stock of her in passing; she could now just hear the voices from the drawing-room; all the pleasant luxury wounded her with its indifference; and still she did not move. Suddenly, however, through the half-open doorway, she perceived Mouret; and he, on his side, had at last guessed it to be her.

"Is it one of your saleswomen?" asked Baron Hartmann.

Mouret had succeeded in concealing his great distress of mind; still his voice trembled somewhat with emotion: "No doubt; but I don't know which."

"It's the little fair girl from the mantle department," replied Madame Marty, obligingly, "the second-hand, I believe."

Henriette looked at Mouret in her turn.

"Ah!" said he, simply.

And then he tried to change the conversation, speaking of the fêtes that were being given to the King of Prussia who had arrived in Paris the day before. But the baron maliciously reverted to the young ladies in the big establishments. He pretended to be desirous of gaining information, and put several questions: Where did they come from in general? Was their conduct as bad as it was said to be? Quite a discussion ensued.

"Really," he repeated, "you think them well-behaved?"

Mouret defended their conduct with a conviction which made Vallagnosc smile. Bouthemont then interfered, to save his chief. Of course, there were some of all sorts, bad and good, though they were all improving. Formerly they had secured nothing but the refuse of the trade; a poor, doubtful class of girls who had drifted into the drapery business; whereas now respectable families in the Rue de Sèvres positively brought up their daughters for the Bon Marché. In short, when they liked to conduct themselves well, they could; for they were not, like the work-girls of Paris, obliged to board and lodge themselves; they had bed and board given them, their existence, though an extremely hard one, no doubt, was at all events provided for. The worst was their neutral, ill-defined position, something between the shopwoman and the lady. Thrown into the midst of luxury, often without any primary instruction, they formed a nameless class apart from all others. Their misfortunes and vices sprang from that.

"For myself," said Madame de Boves, "I don't know any creatures who are more disagreeable. Really, one could slap them at times."

And then the ladies vented their spite. Quite a battle was waged at the shop-counters, where woman was pitted against woman in a sharp rivalry of wealth and beauty. There was the sullen jealousy of the saleswomen towards the well-dressed customers, the ladies whose manners they tried to imitate, and there was a still stronger feeling on the part of the poorly-dressed customers, those of the lower middle-class, against the saleswomen, those girls arrayed in silk, from whom they would have liked to exact a servant's humility even in the serving of a half franc purchase.

"Don't speak of them," said Henriette, by way of conclusion, "they are a wretched lot as worthless as the goods they sell!"

Mouret had the strength to smile. The baron was looking at him, so touched by his graceful command over himself that he changed the conversation, returning to the fêtes that were being given to the King of Prussia: they would be superb, said he, the whole trade of Paris would profit by them. Henriette meanwhile remained silent and thoughtful, divided between the desire to let Denise remain forgotten in the ante-room, and the fear that Mouret, now aware of her presence, might go away. At last she rose from her chair.

"You will allow me?" said she.

"Certainly, my dear!" replied Madame Marty. "I will do the honours of the house for you."

She got up, took the teapot, and filled the cups. Henriette turned towards Baron Hartmann, saying: "You will stay a few minutes, won't you?"

"Yes; I want to speak to Monsieur Mouret. We are going to invade your little drawing-room."

She went out, and her black silk dress, in rustling against the door, made a noise like that of a snake wriggling through brushwood. The baron at once manœuvred to carry Mouret off, leaving the ladies to Bouthemont and Vallagnosc. Then they stood talking before the window of the other room in a low tone. A fresh affair was in question. For a long time past Mouret had cherished a desire to realize his former project, the invasion of the whole block of building from the Rue Monsigny to the Rue de la Michodière and from the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin to the Rue du Dix-Décembre, by The Ladies' Paradise. Of this enormous square there still remained a large plot of ground fronting the last named street, which he had not acquired; and this sufficed to spoil his triumph, he was tormented by a desire to complete his conquest, to erect there a sort of apotheosis, a monumental façade. As long as his principal entrance should remain in the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, in a dark street of olden Paris, his work would be incomplete, deficient in logic. He wished to set it up face to face with new Paris, in one of those modern avenues through which the busy multitude of the end of the nineteenth century passed in the full glare of the sunlight. He could imagine it dominating, imposing itself as the giant palace of commerce, casting even a greater shadow over the city than the old Louvre itself. But hitherto he had been baulked by the obstinacy of the Crédit Immobilier, which still clung to its first idea of building a rival establishment to the Grand Hôtel on the site in question. The plans were ready, they were only waiting for the clearing of the Rue du Dix-Décembre to begin digging the foundations. At last, however, by a supreme effort, Mouret had almost convinced Baron Hartmann.

"Well!" the latter began, "we had a board-meeting yesterday, and I came to-day, thinking I should meet you, and wishing to keep you informed. They still resist."

The young man allowed a nervous gesture to escape him. "But it's ridiculous. What do they say?"

"Dear me! they say what I have said to you myself, and what I am still inclined to think. Your façade is only an ornament, the new buildings would only increase the area of your establishment by about a tenth, and it would be throwing away immense sums on a mere advertisement."

At this, Mouret burst out. "An advertisement! an advertisement! In any case this one would be in stone, and outlive all of us. Just consider that it would increase our business tenfold! We should see our money back in two years. How can ground be lost if it returns you an enormous interest! You will see what crowds we shall have when our customers are no longer obliged to struggle through the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, but can pass freely down a thoroughfare broad enough for six carriages abreast."

"No doubt," replied the baron, laughing. "But you are a poet in your way, let me tell you once more. These gentlemen think it would be dangerous for you to extend your business further. They want to be prudent for you."

"How! prudent? I no longer understand. Don't the figures show the constant increase in our sales? At first, with a capital of five hundred thousand francs, I did business to the extent of two millions, turning over the capital four times every year. It then became four million francs, which, turned over ten times, produced business to the extent of forty millions. In short, after successive increases, I have just learnt, from the last stock-taking, that the business done now amounts to a total of eighty millions; the capital, which has only been slightly increased--for it does not exceed six millions--has passed over our counters, in the form of goods sold, more than twelve times in the year!"

He raised his voice and tapped the fingers of his right hand on the palm of his left, knocking down those millions as he might have cracked nuts. The baron interrupted him. "I know, I know. But you don't hope to keep on increasing in this way, do you?"

"Why not?" asked Mouret, ingenuously. "There's no reason why it should stop. The capital can be turned over as many as fifteen times, I predicted as much long ago. In certain departments it can even be turned over twenty-five or thirty times. And after? well! after, we'll find a means of turning it over still more."

"So you'll finish by swallowing up all the money in Paris, as you'd swallow a glass of water?"

"Most decidedly. Doesn't Paris belong to the women, and don't the women belong to us?"

The baron laid his hands on Mouret's shoulders, looking at him with a paternal air. "Listen, you're a fine fellow, and I like you. There's no resisting you. We'll go into the matter seriously, and I hope to make them listen to reason. So far, we are perfectly satisfied with you. Your dividends astonish the Bourse. You must be right; it will be better to put more money into your business, than to risk this competition with the Grand Hôtel, which is hazardous."

Mouret's excitement at once subsided and he thanked the baron, but without any of his usual enthusiasm; and the other saw him turn his eyes towards the door of the next room, again a prey to the secret anxiety which he was concealing. Meanwhile Vallagnosc had come up, on seeing that they had finished talking business. He stood close to them, listening to the baron, who, with the air of an old man who had seen life, was muttering: "I say, I fancy they're taking their revenge."

"Who?" asked Mouret in embarrassment.

"Why, the women. They're getting tired of belonging to you, and you now belong to them, my dear fellow: it's only just!"

Then he joked him, well aware as he was of the young man's notorious love affairs. The enormous sums squandered by Mouret in costly and stupid caprices, amused him as an excuse for the follies which he had formerly committed himself. His old experience rejoiced to think that men had in no wise changed.

"Really, I don't understand you," repeated Mouret.

"Oh! you understand well enough," answered the baron. "They always get the last word. In fact, I thought to myself: It isn't possible, he's boasting, he can't be so strong as that! And now there you are! So though you obtain all you can from woman and work her as you would a coal mine, it's simply in order that she may work you afterwards, and force you to refund! And take care, for she'll draw more money from you than you have ever drawn from her."

He laughed louder still, and Vallagnosc standing by also began to grin, without, however, saying a word.

"Dear me! one must have a taste of everything," confessed Mouret, pretending to laugh as well. "Money is worthless, if it isn't spent."

"As for that, I agree with you," resumed the baron. "Enjoy yourself, my dear fellow. I'll not be the one to preach to you, or to tremble for the great interests we have confided to your care. Every one must sow his wild oats, and his head is generally clearer afterwards. Besides, there's nothing unpleasant in ruining one's self when one feels capable of building up another fortune. But if money is nothing, there are certain sufferings----"

He stopped and his smile became sad; former sufferings doubtless returned to his mind amid the irony of his scepticism. He had watched the duel between Henriette and Mouret with the curiosity of a man who still felt greatly interested in other people's love battles; and he divined that the crisis had arrived, he guessed the pending drama, being well acquainted with the story of that girl Denise whom he had seen in the ante-room.

"Oh! as for suffering, that's not in my line," said Mouret, in a tone of bravado. "It's quite enough to have to pay."

The baron looked at him for a moment without speaking. And not wishing to insist on the subject he added, slowly--"Don't make yourself out to be worse than you are! You'll lose something else besides your money. Yes, you'll lose a part of yourself, my dear fellow."

Then he broke off again, laughing, to ask: "That often happens, does it not, Monsieur de Vallagnosc?"

"So they say, baron," the latter merely replied.

Just at this moment the door opened. Mouret, who was about to answer in his turn, started slightly, and both he and his companions turned round. It was Madame Desforges who, looking very gay, had put her head through the doorway to call, in a hurried voice--"Monsieur Mouret! Monsieur Mouret!" And then perceiving the others, she added, "Oh! you'll excuse me, won't you, gentlemen? I'm going to take Monsieur Mouret away for a minute. The least he can do, as he has sold me such a frightful mantle, is to give me the benefit of his experience. This girl is a stupid thing without an idea in her head. Come, come! I'm waiting for you."

He hesitated, undecided, flinching from the scene he could foresee. However, he had to obey.

"Go, my dear fellow, go, madame wants you," the baron said to him, with his air at once paternal and mocking.

Thereupon Mouret followed her. The door closed, and he thought he could hear Vallagnosc's laugh, muffled by the hangings. His courage was entirely exhausted. Since Henriette had quitted the drawing-room, and he had known Denise to be there in jealous hands, he had experienced a growing anxiety, a nervous torment, which made him listen from time to time, as if suddenly startled by a distant sound of weeping. What could that woman invent to torture her? And all his love, that love which surprised him even now, went forth to the girl like a support and a consolation. Never before had he loved like this, found such a powerful charm in suffering. His former affections, his love for Henriette herself--so delicate, so handsome, so flattering to his pride--had never been more than agreeable pastimes; whereas nowadays his heart beat with anguish, his life was taken, he could no longer even enjoy the forgetfulness of sleep. Denise was ever in his thoughts. Even at this moment she was the sole object of his anxiety, and he was telling himself that he preferred to be there to protect her, notwithstanding his fear of some regrettable scene with the one he was following.

At first, they both crossed the bed-room, silent and empty. Then Madame Desforges, pushing open a door, entered the dressing-room, with Mouret behind her. It was a rather large room, hung with red silk and furnished with a marble toilet table and a large wardrobe with three compartments and great glass doors. As the window overlooked the court-yard, it was already rather dark, and the two nickel-plated gas burners on either side of the wardrobe had been lighted.

"Now, let's see," said Henriette, "perhaps we shall get on better."

On entering, Mouret had found Denise standing upright, in the middle of the bright light. She was very pale, modestly dressed in a cashmere jacket, with a black hat on her head; and she was holding the mantle purchased at The Ladies' Paradise. When she saw the young man her hands slightly trembled.

"I wish Monsieur Mouret to judge," resumed Henriette. "Just help me, mademoiselle."

Then Denise, approaching, had to give her the mantle. She had already placed some pins on the shoulders, the part that did not fit. Henriette turned round to look at herself in the glass.

"Is it possible? Speak frankly," said she.

"It really is a failure, madame," replied Mouret, to cut the matter short. "It's very simple; the young lady will take your measure, and we will make you another."

"No, I want this one, I want it immediately," she resumed with vivacity. "But it's too narrow across the chest, and it forms a ruck at the back between the shoulders." Then, in her sharpest voice, she added: "It's no use for you to stand looking at me, mademoiselle, that won't make it any better! Try and find a remedy. It's your business."

Denise again commenced to place the pins, without saying a word. This went on for some time: she had to pass from one shoulder to the other, and was even obliged to go almost on her knees, in order to pull the mantle down in front. Above her, placing herself entirely in her hands, was Madame Desforges, imparting to her face the harsh expression of a mistress exceedingly difficult to please. Delighted to lower the young girl to this servant's work, she gave her curt orders, watching the while for the least sign of suffering on Mouret's face.

"Put a pin here! No! not there, here, near the sleeve. You don't seem to understand! That isn't it, there's the ruck showing again. Take care, you're pricking me now!"

Twice again did Mouret vainly attempt to interfere, in order to put an end to this scene. His heart was beating violently from this humiliation of his love; and he loved Denise more than ever, with a deep tenderness, in presence of her admirably silent and patient demeanour. If the girl's hands still trembled somewhat, at being treated in this way before his face, she nevertheless accepted the necessities of her position with the proud resignation of one who was courageous. When Madame Desforges found they were not likely to betray themselves, she tried another device: she began to smile on Mouret, treating him openly as a lover. The pins having run short, she said to him:

"Look, my dear, in the ivory box on the dressing-table. Really! it's empty? Well, kindly look on the chimney-piece in the bed-room; you know, just beside the looking-glass."

She spoke as if he were quite at home there, and knew where to find everything. And when he came back with a few pins, she took them one by one, and forced him to remain near her, looking at him the while and speaking low: "I don't fancy I'm hump-backed, eh? Give me your hand, feel my shoulders, just to please me. Am I really made like that?"

Denise slowly raised her eyes, paler than ever, and in silence set about placing the pins. Mouret could only see her heavy blonde tresses, twisted at the back of her delicate neck; but by the slight tremor which was raising them, he could imagine the uneasiness and shame of her face. Hereafter she would most certainly repulse him, and send him back to this woman who did not conceal her affection even before strangers. Brutal thoughts came into his head, he could have struck Henriette. How was he to stop her talk? How tell Denise that he adored her, that she alone existed for him at this moment, and that he was ready to sacrifice for her all his former caprices of a day? The worst of women would not have indulged in the equivocal familiarities of this well-born lady. At last he withdrew his hand, saying:

"You are wrong in being so obstinate, madame, since I myself consider the garment to be a failure."

One of the gas jets was hissing; and in the stuffy, moist air of the room, nothing else was heard but that ardent sibilant breath. On the red silk hangings the glass-doors of the wardrobe cast broad sheets of vivid light in which the shadows of the two women played. A bottle containing some essence of verbena, which had been left uncorked inadvertently, emitted a vague expiring odour of fading flowers.

"There, madame, that is all I can do," at last said Denise, rising up.

She felt thoroughly worn out. Twice had she run the pins into her fingers, as if blind, her eyes clouded. Was he in the plot? Had he sent for her, to avenge himself for her refusal by showing her that other women had affection for him? This thought chilled her; she could not remember having ever stood in need of so much courage, not even during the terrible hours of her life when she had lacked bread. It was comparatively nothing to be humiliated in this way, but to see him so unconstrained with that other woman was dreadful. Henriette looked at herself in the glass, and once more burst into harsh words.

"What nonsense, mademoiselle! It fits worse than ever. Just see how tight it is across the chest. I look like a wet nurse!"

Denise, losing all patience thereupon made a rather unfortunate remark: "You are rather stout, madame. We cannot make you thinner than you are."

"Stout! stout!" exclaimed Henriette, turning pale in her turn. "You're becoming insolent now, mademoiselle. Really, I should advise you to criticize others!"

They both stood looking at one another, face to face, and trembling. There was now neither lady nor shop-girl left. They were simply two women, made equal by their rivalry. The one had violently taken off the mantle and cast it on a chair, whilst the other was throwing on the dressing-table the few pins still remaining in her hands.

"What astonishes me," resumed Henriette, "is that Monsieur Mouret should tolerate such insolence. I thought, sir, that you were more particular about your employees."

Denise had again recovered her brave, calm manner. "If Monsieur Mouret keeps me in his employ," she gently replied, "it's because he has no fault to find. I am ready to apologize to you, if he desires it."

Mouret was listening, excited by this quarrel but unable to find a word to put a stop to it. He had a great horror of these explanations between women, whose asperity clashed with his perpetual desire for grace and refinement. Henriette was seeking to compel him to say something in condemnation of the girl; and, as he still remained mute and undecided, she stung him with a final insult:

"Very good, sir. It seems that I must suffer the insolence of your mistresses in my own house even! A creature you've picked out of some gutter!"

Two big tears gushed from Denise's eyes. She had been keeping them back for some time past; but beneath this last insult her whole being succumbed. And when he saw her weeping like that with a silent, despairing dignity, never making the slightest attempt at retaliation, Mouret no longer hesitated; his heart went forth to her full of immense affection. He took her hands in his and stammered: "Go away quickly, my child, and forget this house!"

Henriette, perfectly amazed, choking with anger, stood looking at them.

"Wait a minute," he continued, folding up the mantle himself, "take this garment away. Madame will purchase another one elsewhere. And pray don't cry any more. You know how greatly I esteem you."

He went with her to the door, which he closed behind her. She had not said a word; but a pink flame had coloured her cheeks, whilst her eyes moistened with fresh tears, tears of a delicious sweetness. Henriette, who was suffocating, had taken out her handkerchief and was crushing her lips with it. This was a total overthrow of her calculations; she herself had been caught in the trap she had laid. She was mortified with herself for having carried matters too far, and bitterly tortured by jealousy. To be abandoned for such a creature as that! To see herself disdained before her! Her pride suffered even more than her affection.

"So, it's that girl you love?" she said painfully, when they were alone.

Mouret did not at once reply; he was walking about from the window to the door, seeking to stifle his violent emotion. At last, however, he stopped, and very politely, in a voice which he tried to render frigid, he replied in all simplicity: "Yes, madame."

The gas jet was still hissing in the stuffy air of the dressing-room. But the reflections of the glass doors were no longer traversed by dancing shadows, the room seemed bare and full of profound sadness. And Henriette suddenly dropped upon a chair, twisting her handkerchief between her febrile fingers, and, repeating amid her sobs: "Good heavens! how wretched I am!"

He stood perfectly still, looking at her for several seconds, and then went quietly away. She, left all alone, wept on in the silence, before the pins scattered over the dressing-table and the floor.

When Mouret returned to the little drawing-room, he found Vallagnosc alone, the baron having gone back to the ladies. As he still felt very agitated, he sat down at the further end of the apartment, on a sofa; and his friend on seeing him so faint charitably came and stood before him, to conceal him from curious eyes. At first, they looked at each other without saying a word. Then, Vallagnosc, who seemed to be inwardly amused by Mouret's emotion, finished by asking in his bantering voice: "Are you enjoying yourself?"

Mouret did not appear to understand him at first. But when he remembered their former conversations on the empty stupidity and useless torture of life, he replied: "Of course, I've never before lived so much. Ah! my boy, don't you laugh, the hours that make one die of grief are by far the shortest!" Then he lowered his voice and continued gaily, beneath his half-dried tears: "Yes, you know all, don't you? Between them they have rent my heart. But yet the wounds they make are nice, almost as nice as kisses. I am thoroughly exhausted but, no matter, you can't think how I love life! Oh! I shall win her at last, that little girl who still says no!"

But Vallagnosc once more trotted out his pessimism. What was the good of working so much if money could not procure everything? He would precious soon have shut up shop and have given up work on the day he found that his millions could not even win him the woman he loved! Mouret, as he listened became grave. But all at once he protested violently, believing as he did in the all-powerfulness of his will.

"I love her, and I'll win her!" said he. "But even if she escapes me, you'll see what a place I shall build to cure myself. It will be splendid, all the same. You don't understand this language, old man, otherwise you would know that action contains its own recompense. To act, to create, to struggle against facts, to overcome them or be overthrown by them, all human health and joy consists in that!"

"A mere way of diverting one's self," murmured the other.

"Well! I prefer diverting myself. As one must die, I would rather die of passion than boredom!"

They both laughed, this reminded them of their old discussions at college. Then Vallagnosc, in an effeminate voice, began to parade his theories of the insipidity of things, making almost a boast of the immobility and emptiness of his existence. Yes, he would be as bored at the Ministry on the morrow as he had been on the day before. In three years he had had a rise of six hundred francs, he was now receiving three thousand six hundred, barely enough to pay for his cigars. Things were getting worse than ever, and if he did not kill himself, it was simply from idleness and a dislike of trouble. On Mouret speaking of his marriage with Mademoiselle de Boves, he replied that despite the obstinacy of the aunt in refusing to die, the matter was about to be concluded; at least, he thought so, the parents were agreed, and he affected to have no will of his own. What was the use of wishing or not wishing, since things never turned out as one desired?

And as an example of this he mentioned his future father-in-law, who had expected to find in Madame Guibal an indolent blonde, the caprice of an hour, but was now led by her with a whip, like an old horse on its last legs. Whilst they supposed him to be inspecting the stud at Saint-Lô, he was squandering his last resources with her in a little house at Versailles.

"He's happier than you," said Mouret, getting up.

"Oh! rather!" declared Vallagnosc. "Perhaps there's only wrong-doing that's at all amusing."

Mouret was now himself again. He was thinking about getting away; but not wishing his departure to resemble a flight he resolved to take a cup of tea, and therefore went into the big drawing-room with his friend, both of them in high spirits. When the ladies inquired if the mantle had been made to fit, Mouret carelessly replied that he had given it up as a bad job as far as he was concerned. At this the others seemed astonished, and whilst Madame Marty hastened to serve him, Madame de Boves accused the shops of never allowing enough material for their garments.

At last, he managed to sit down near Bouthemont, who had not stirred. The two were forgotten for a moment, and, in reply to the anxious questions of Bouthemont, who wished to know what he had to expect, Mouret did not hesitate any longer, but abruptly informed him that the board of directors had decided to deprive themselves of his services. He sipped his tea between each sentence he uttered, protesting all the while that he was in despair. Oh! a quarrel that he had not even yet got over, for he had left the meeting beside himself with rage. But then what could he do? he could not break with those gentlemen about a simple staff question. Bouthemont, very pale, had to thank him once more.

"What a terrible mantle," at last observed Madame Marty. "Henriette can't get over it."

And really the prolonged absence of the mistress of the house had begun to make every one feel awkward. But, at that very moment, Madame Desforges appeared.

"So you've given it up as well?" exclaimed Madame de Boves, gaily.

"How do you mean?"

"Why, Monsieur Mouret told us that you could do nothing with it."

Henriette affected the greatest surprise. "Monsieur Mouret was joking," said she. "The mantle will fit splendidly."

She appeared very calm and smiling. No doubt she had bathed her eyes, for they were quite fresh, without the slightest trace of redness. Whilst her whole being was still trembling and bleeding, she managed to conceal her torment beneath a mask of smiling, well-bred elegance. And she offered some sandwiches to Vallagnosc with her usual graceful smile. Only the baron who knew her so well, remarked the slight contraction of her lips and the sombre fire which she had not been able to extinguish in the depths of her eyes. He guessed the whole scene.

"Dear me! each one to her taste," said Madame de Boves, also accepting a sandwich. "I know some women who would never buy a ribbon except at the Louvre. Others swear by the Bon Marché. It's a question of temperament, no doubt."

"The Bon Marché is very provincial," murmured Madame Marty, "and one gets so crushed at the Louvre."

They had again returned to the big establishments. Mouret had to give his opinion; he came up to them and affected to be very impartial. The Bon Marché was an excellent house, solid and respectable; but the Louvre certainly had a more showy class of customers.

"In short, you prefer The Ladies' Paradise," said the baron, smiling.

"Yes," replied Mouret, quietly. "There we really love our customers."

All the women present were of his opinion. It was indeed just that; at The Ladies' Paradise, they found themselves as at a sort of private party, they felt a continual caress of flattery, an overflowing adoration which made the most dignified of them linger there. The vast success of the establishment sprang from that gallant fascination.

"By the way," asked Henriette, who wished to appear entirely at her ease, "what have you done with my protégée, Monsieur Mouret? You know--Mademoiselle de Fontenailles." And, turning towards Madame Marty, she explained, "A marchioness, my dear, a poor girl fallen into poverty."

"Oh," said Mouret, "she earns three francs a day by stitching pattern-books, and I fancy I shall be able to marry her to one of my messengers."

"Oh! fie! what a horror!" exclaimed Madame de Boves.

He looked at her, and replied in his calm voice: "Why so, madame? Isn't it better for her to marry an honest, hard-working messenger than to run the risk of being picked up by some good-for-nothing fellow outside?"

Vallagnosc wished to interfere, for the sake of a joke. "Don't push him too far, madame, or he'll tell you that all the old families of France ought to sell calico."

"Well," declared Mouret, "it would at least be an honourable end for a great many of them."

They set up a laugh, the paradox seemed far fetched. But he continued to sing the praises of what he called the aristocracy of work. A slight flush had coloured Madame de Boves's cheeks, she was wild at the shifts to which she was put by her poverty; whilst Madame Marty, on the contrary, approved what was said, stricken with remorse on thinking of her poor husband. Just then the footman ushered in the professor, who had called to take her home. In his thin, shiny frock-coat he looked more shrivelled than ever by all his hard toil. When he had thanked Madame Desforges for having spoken for him at the Ministry, he cast at Mouret the timid glance of a man encountering the evil that is to kill him. And he was quite confused when he heard the other ask him:

"Isn't it true, sir, that work leads to everything?"

"Work and thrift," replied he, with a slight shiver of his whole body. "Add thrift, sir."

Meanwhile, Bouthemont had not moved from his chair, Mouret's words were still ringing in his ears. But at last he got up, and approaching Henriette said to her in a low tone: "Do you know, he's given me notice; oh! in the kindest possible manner. But may I be hanged if he shan't repent it! I've just found my sign, The Four Seasons, and shall plant myself close to the Opera House!"

She looked at him with a gloomy expression. "Reckon on me, I'm with you. Wait a minute," she said.

And forthwith she drew Baron Hartmann into the recess of a window, and boldly recommended Bouthemont to him, as a fellow who would in his turn revolutionize Paris, by setting up for himself. When she went on to speak of an advance of funds for her new protégé, the baron, though now never astonished at anything, could not restrain a gesture of bewilderment. This was the fourth fellow of genius that she had confided to him, and he was beginning to feel ridiculous. But he did not directly refuse, the idea of starting a competitor to The Ladies' Paradise even pleased him somewhat; for in banking matters he had already invented this sort of competition, to keep off others. Besides, the adventure amused him, and he promised to look into the matter.

"We must talk it over to-night," whispered Henriette on returning to Bouthemont. "Don't fail to call about nine o'clock. The baron is with us."

At this moment the spacious room was full of chatter. Mouret, still standing in the midst of the ladies, had recovered his elegant gracefulness; he was gaily defending himself from the charge of ruining them in dress and offering to prove by figures that he enabled them to save thirty per cent on their purchases. Baron Hartmann watched him, seized with a fraternal admiration. Come! the duel was finished, Henriette was decidedly beaten, she certainly was not the woman who was to avenge all the others. And he fancied he could again see the modest profile of the girl whom he had observed when passing through the ante-room. She stood there, waiting, alone redoubtable in her sweetness.