Each one cut a piece, and then dug the knife into the loaf up to the handle; and the bread still went round.
“Who'll take my rice for a dessert?” asked Hutin.
When he had concluded his bargain with a short, thin young fellow, he attempted to sell his wine also; but no one would take it, it was known to be detestable.
“As I was telling you, Robineau is back,” he continued, amid the cross-fire of laughter and conversation that was going on. “Oh! his affair is a grave one. Just fancy, he has been debauching the saleswomen! Yes, and he gets them cravats to make!”
“Silence!” exclaimed Favier. “They're just judging him.”
And he pointed to Bouthemont, who was walking in the passage between Mouret and Bourdoncle, all three absorbed in an animated conversation, carried on in a low tone. The diningroom of the managers and second-hands happened to be just opposite. Therefore, when Bouthemont saw Mouret pass he got up, having finished, and related the affair, explaining the awkward position he was in. The other two listened, still refusing to sacrifice Robineau, a first-class salesman, who dated from Madame Hedouin's time. But when he came to the story of the neckties, Bourdoncle got angry. Was this fellow mad to interfere with the saleswomen and procure them extra work? The house paid dear enough for the women's time; if they worked on their own account at night they worked less during the day in the shop, that was certain; therefore it was a robbery, they were risking their health which did not belong to them. No, the night was made for sleep; they must all sleep, or they would be sent to the right-about!
“Getting rather warm!” remarked Hutin.
Every time the three men passed the dining-room, the shopmen watched them, commenting on the slightest gestures. They had forgotten the baked rice, in which a cashier had just found a brace-button.
“I heard the word 'cravat,'” said Favier. “And you saw how Bourdoncle's face turned pale at once.”
Mouret shared his partner's indignation. That a saleswoman should be reduced to work at night, seemed to him an attack on the organisation of The Ladies' Paradise. Who was the stupid that couldn't earn enough in the business? But when Bouthemont named Denise he softened down, and invented excuses. Ah I yes, that poor little girl; she wasn't very sharp, and was greatly burdened, it was said. Bourdoncle interrupted him to declare they ought to send her off immediately. They would never do anything with such an ugly creature, he had always said so; and he seemed to be indulging a spiteful feeling. Mouret, perplexed, affected to laugh. Dear me! what a severe man! couldn't they forgive her for once? They could call in the culprit and give her a scolding. In short, Robineau was the most to blame, for he ought to have dissuaded her, he, an old hand, knowing the ways of the house.