“Good!” answered Mascarin; “but let us have a look at the column headed ‘Doubtful.’”
“Here you are,” returned the arbiter of fashion, as he turned over the leaves. “Mademoiselle Virginie Cluhe has ordered five theatrical costumes, two dinner, and three morning dresses.”
“That is a heavy order.”
“I wanted for that reason to consult you. She doesn’t owe us much—perhaps a thousand francs or so.”
“That is too much, for I hear that her friend has come to grief. Do not decline the order, but avoid taking fresh ones.”
Van Klopen made a few mysterious signs in the margin of his ledger.
“On the 6th of this month the Countess de Mussidan gave us an order—a perfectly plain dress for her daughter. Her account is a very heavy one, and the Count has warned us that he will not pay it.”
“Never mind that. Go on with the order, put press for payment.”
“On the 7th a new customer came—Mademoiselle Flavia, the daughter of Martin Rigal, the banker.”
When Paul heard this name, he could not repress a start, of which, however, Mascarin affected to take no notice.