To pass away the time, she took out some chocolate which she began eating with her bread, for she always had her pockets full of sweetmeats.
“Certainly it isn't very amusing with such a fellow,” resumed Clara. “And some people are fearfully jealous, you know! Only the other day there was a workman who pitched his wife into a well.”
She kept her eyes on Denise, thinking she had guessed her trouble on seeing her turn pale. Evidently this little prude was afraid of being beaten by her lover, whom she no doubt deceived. It would be a lark if he came right into the shop after her, as she seemed to fear he would. But the conversation took another turn, one of the girls was giving a recipe for cleaning velvet. They then went on to speak of a piece at the Gaiety, in which some darling little children danced better than any grown-up persons. Pauline, saddened for a moment at the sight of her omelet, which was overdone, resumed her gaiety on finding it went down fairly well.
“Pass the wine,” said she to Denise. “You should go in for an omelet.”
“Oh! the beef is enough for me,” replied the young girl, who, to avoid expense, confined herself to the food provided by the house, no matter how repugnant it might be.
When the waiter brought in the baked rice, the young ladies protested. They had refused it the previous week, and hoped it would not appear again. Denise, inattentive, worrying about Jean after Clara's stories, was the only one to eat it; all the others looked at her with an air of disgust. There was a great demand for extras, they gorged themselves with jam. This was a sort of elegance, they felt obliged to feed themselves with their own money.
“You know the gentlemen have complained,” said the little delicate girl from the under-linen department, “and the management has promised——”
They interrupted her with a burst of laughter, and commenced to talk about the management. All the girls took coffee but Denise, who couldn't bear it, she said. And they lingered there before their cups, the young ladies from the under-linen department in woollen dresses, with a middle-class simplicity, the young ladies from the dress department in silk, their napkins tucked under their chins, in order not to stain their dresses, like ladies who might have come down to the servants' hall to dine with their chamber-maids. They had opened the glazed sash of the airhole to change the stifling poisoned air; but they were obliged to close it at once, the cab-wheels seemed to be passing over the table.
“Hush!” exclaimed Pauline; “here's that old beast!”
It was Jouve, the inspector, who was rather fond of prowling about at meal times, when the young ladies were there. He was supposed, in fact, to look after their dining-rooms. With a smiling face he would come in and walk round the tables; sometimes he would even indulge in a little gossip, and inquire if they had made a good lunch. But as he annoyed them and made them feel uncomfortable, they all hastened to get away. Although the bell had not rung, Clara was the first to disappear; the others followed her, so that soon only Denise and Pauline remained. The latter, after having drunk her coffee, was finishing her chocolate drops. All at once she got up, saying: “I'm going to send the messenger for some oranges. Are you coming?”