“Give it me, sir.”
“Presently, my child,” the old man would reply in a voice that suddenly became tender. “He hasn't any eyes; we must make his eyes now.” And whilst carving the eye he would continue talking to Denise. “Do you hear them? Isn't there a roar next door? That's what exasperates me more than anything, my word of honour! to have them always on my back with their infernal locomotive-like noise.”
It made his little table tremble, he asserted. The whole shop was shaken, and he would spend the entire afternoon without a customer, in the trepidation of the crowd which overflowed The Ladies' Paradise. It was from morning to night a subject for eternal grumbling. Another good day's work, they were knocking against the wall, the silk department must have cleared ten thousand francs; or else he made merry over a showery day which had killed the receipts. And the slightest rumours, the most unimportant noises, furnished him with subjects of endless comment.
“Ah! some one has slipped down! Ah, if they could only all fall and break their backs! That, my dear, is a dispute between some ladies. So much the better! So much the better! Do you hear the parcels falling on to the lower floor? It's disgusting!”
It did not do for Denise to discuss his explanations, for he retorted bitterly by reminding her of the shameful way they had dismissed her. She was obliged to relate for the hundredth time her life in the dress department, the hardships she had endured at first, the small unhealthy bedrooms, the bad food, and the continual struggle between the salesmen; and they were thus talking about the shop from morning to night, absorbing it hourly in the very air they breathed.
“Give it me, sir,” Pépé would repeat, with eager outstretched hands.
The dog's head finished, Bourras would hold it at a distance, then examine it closely with childish glee. “Take care, it will bite you! There, go and play, and don't break it, if you can help it.” Then resuming his fixed idea, he would shake his fist at the wall. “You may do all you can to knock the house down. You sha'n't have it, even if you invade the whole neighbourhood.”
Denise had now her daily bread assured her, and she was extremely grateful to the old umbrella-dealer, whose good heart she felt beneath his strange violent ways. She had a strong desire, however, to find some work elsewhere, for she often saw him inventing some trifle for her to do; she fully understood that he did not require a workwoman in the present slack state of his business, and that he was employing her out of pure charity. Six months had passed thus, and the dull winter season had again returned. She was despairing of finding a situation before March, when, one evening in January, Deloche, who was watching for her in a doorway, gave her a bit of advice. Why did she not go and see Robineau; perhaps he might want some one?
In September, Robineau had decided to buy Vinçard's silk business, trembling all the time lest he should compromise his wife's sixty thousand francs. He had paid forty thousand for the good-will and stock, and was starting with the remaining twenty thousand. It was not much, but he had Gaujean behind him to back him up with any amount of credit. Since his disagreement with The Ladies' Paradise, the latter had been longing to stir up a system of competition against the colossus; and he thought victory certain, by creating special shops in the neighbourhood, where the public could find a large and varied choice of articles. The rich Lyons manufacturers, such as Dumonteil, were the only ones who could accept the big shops' terms, satisfied to keep their looms going with them, looking for their profits by selling to less important houses. But Gaujean was far from having the solidity and staying power possessed by Dumonteil. For a long time a simple commission agent, it was only during the last five or six years that he had had looms of his own, and he still had a lot of work done by other makers, furnishing them with the raw material and paying them by the yard. It was precisely this system which, increasing his manufacturing expenses, had prevented him competing with Dumonteil for the supply of the Paris Paradise. This had filled him with rancour; he saw in Robineau the instrument of a decisive battle to be declared against these drapery bazaars which he accused of ruining the French manufacturers.
When Denise called she found Madame Robineau alone. Daughter of an overseer in the Department of Highways, entirely ignorant of business matters, she still retained the charming awkwardness of a girl educated in a Blois convent She was dark, very pretty, with a gentle, cheerful manner, which gave her a great charm. She adored her husband, living solely by his love. As Denise was about to leave her name Robineau came in, and engaged her at once, one of his two saleswomen having left the previous day to go to The Ladies' Paradise.