Monsieur Gourd just then came down from the room on the third floor. Seeing after that was the only work that he now condescended to do in the house; and he showed himself highly flattered by the confidence of the gentleman, who paid him well on condition that his basins should not pass through any other hands.
“No, Monsieur Mouret, nothing at all,” answered he.
He had seen old mother Pérou perfectly well, but he pretended not to be aware of her presence. The day before he had got into such a rage with her for upsetting a pail of water in the middle of the vestibule, that he had sent her about her business on the spot. And she had called for her money, but the mere sight of him made her tremble, and she almost sank into the ground with humility.
However, as Octave remained some time doing the amiable with Madame Gourd, the doorkeeper roughly turned toward the poor old woman.
“So, you want to be paid. What’s owing to you?”
But Madame Gourd interrupted him.
“Look, darling, there’s that girl again with her horrible little beast.”
It was Lisa, who, a few days before, had found a spaniel in the street. And this occasioned continual disputes with the doorkeepers. The landlord would not allow any animals in the house. No, no animals, and no women! The little dog was even forbidden to go into the courtyard; the street was quite good enough for him. As it had been raining that morning, and the little beast’s paws were sopping wet, Monsieur Gourd rushed forward, exclaiming:
“I will not have him walk up the stairs, you hear me! Carry him in your arms.”
“So that he shall make me all in a mess!” said Lisa, insolently. “What a great misfortune it’ll be if he wets the servants’ staircase a bit! Up you go, doggie.”