After the cheese, the servant brought in some jam and some pears. He took some jam, eating it with a spoon, with the unconscious greediness of a big man very fond of sugar.
“To begin with, you must attack their Paris Paradise, which has been their success of the year. I have come to an understanding with several of my brother manufacturers at Lyons, and have brought you an exceptional offer—a black silk, that you can sell at five and a half. They sell theirs at five francs twelve sous, don't they? Well! this will be two sous less, and that will suffice to upset them.”
At this Robineau's eyes lighted up again. In his continual nervous torment, he often skipped like this from despair to hope. “Have you got a sample?” asked he. And when Gaujean drew from his pocket-book a little square of silk, he went into raptures, exclaiming: “Why, this is a handsomer silk than the Paris Paradise! In any case it produces a better effect, the grain is coarser. You are right, we must make the attempt If I don't bring them to my feet, I'll give up this time!”
Madame Robineau, sharing this enthusiasm, declared the silk superb, and Denise herself thought they would succeed. The latter part of the dinner was thus very gay. They talk in a loud tone; it seemed that The Ladies' Paradise was at its last gasp. Gaujean, who was finishing the pot of jam, explained what enormous sacrifices he and his colleagues would be obliged to make to deliver such an article at this low price; but they would ruin themselves rather than yield; they had sworn to kill the big shops. As the coffee came in the gaiety was greatly increased by the arrival of Vinçard, who had just called, in passing, to see how his successor was getting on.
“Famous!” cried he, feeling the silk. “You'll floor them, I stake my life! Ah! you owe me a rare good thing; I told you this was a golden affair!”
He had just taken a restaurant at Vincennes. It was an old, cherished idea, slyly nourished while he was struggling in the silk business, trembling for fear he should not sell it before the crash came, and swearing to himself that he would put his money into an undertaking where he could rob at his ease. The idea of a restaurant had struck him at the wedding of a cousin, who had been made to pay ten francs for a bowl of dish water, in which floated some Italian paste. And, in presence of the Robineaus, the joy he felt in having saddled them with a badly-paying business of which he despaired of ever getting rid, enlarged still further his face with its round eyes and large loyal-looking mouth, a face beaming with health.
“And your pains?” asked Madame Robineau, good-naturedly.
“My pains?” murmured he, astonished.
“Yes, those rheumatic pains which tormented you so much when you were here.”
He then recollected, and blushed slightly. “Oh, I suffered,” and blushed slightly. “Oh I suffer from them still! However, the country air, you know, has done wonders for me. Never mind, you've done a good stroke of business. Had it not been for my rheumatics, I could soon have retired with ten thousand francs a year. My word of honour!”