“To-morrow she will expect people to make purchases.”
“Without doubt.”
“It is very tormenting, this, to have these irresponsible girls, that no one knows anything about, setting up shops under our very noses. Why does she live alone?”
“I did not ask her,” answered Cuerrier, to whom the question was addressed.
“You are very cool, Monsieur Cuerrier; but if it was a young man and a postmaster, instead of a young woman and a milliner, you would not relish it.”
“There can be only one postmaster,” said Cuerrier.
“In Paris, where I practised my art,” said Monsieur Villeblanc, who was a retired hairdresser, “there were whole rows of tonsorial parlors, and every one had enough to do.” Madame Laroque sniffed, as she always did in his presence.
“Did you see her hat?” she asked.
“I did, and it was very nice.”
“Nice! with the flowers all on one side? I wouldn’t go to St. Thérèse with it on.” St. Thérèse was the postmaster’s native place.