Near the children was a lady concealed behind the pages of a review. It was Madame Guibal She seemed annoyed at the meeting; but quickly recovering herself, related that she had come to sit down for a moment to escape the crush. And as Madame Bourdelais asked her if she was going to make any purchases, she replied with her languorous air, hiding behind her eyelashes the egoistical greediness of her looks:
“Oh! no. On the contrary, I have come to return some goods. Yes, some door-curtains which I don't like. But there is such a crowd that I am waiting to get near the department.”
She went on talking, saying how convenient this system of returns was; formerly she never bought anything, but now she sometimes allowed herself to be tempted. In fact, she returned four articles out of five, and was getting known at all the counters for her strange system of buying, and her eternal discontent which made her bring back the articles one by one, after having kept them several days. But, whilst speaking, she did not take her eyes off the doors of the reading-room; and she appeared greatly relieved when Madame Bourdelais rejoined her children, to explain the photographs to them. Almost at the same moment Monsieur de Boves and Paul de Vallagnosc came in. The count, who affected to be showing the young man through the new buildings, exchanged a rapid glance with Madame Guibal; and she then plunged into her review again, as if she had not seen him.
“Hullo, Paul!” suddenly exclaimed a voice behind these gentlemen.
It was Mouret, on his way round to give a look at the various departments. They shook hands, and he at once asked: “Has Madame de Boves done us the honour of coming?”
“Well, no,” replied the husband, “and she very much regrets it. She's not very well. Oh! nothing dangerous!” But suddenly he pretended to catch sight of Madame Guibal, and ran off, going up to her bareheaded, whilst the others merely bowed to her from a distance. She also pretended to be surprised. Paul smiled; he now understood the affair, and he related to Mouret in a low voice how De Boves, whom he had met in the Rue Richelieu, had tried to get away from him, and had finished by dragging him into The Ladies' Paradise, under the pretext that he must show him the new buildings. For the last year the lady had drawn from De Boves all the money and pleasure she could, never writing to him, making appointments with him in public places, churches, museums, and shops, to arrange their affairs.
“I fancy that at each meeting they change their hôtel,” murmured the young man. “Not long ago, he was on a tour of inspection; he wrote to his wife every day from Blois, Libourne, and Tarbes; and yet I feel convinced I saw them going into a family boarding-house at Batignolles. But look at him, isn't he splendid before her with his military correctness! The old French gallantry, my dear fellow, the old French gallantry!”
“And your marriage?” asked Mouret Paul, without taking his eyes off the count, replied that they were still waiting for the death of the aunt. Then, with a triumphant air: “There, did you see him? He stooped down, and slipped an address into her hand. She's now accepting with the most virtuous air. She's a terrible woman, that delicate red-haired creature with her careless ways. Well! there are some fine things going on in your place!”
“Oh!” said Mouret, smiling, “these ladies are not in my house, they are at home here.”
He then began to joke. Love, like the swallows, always brought good luck to a house. No doubt he knew the girls who wandered about from counter to counter, the ladies who accidentally met a friend in the shop; but if they bought nothing, they filled up a place, and helped to crowd and warm the shop. Still continuing his gossip, he carried his old comrade off, and planted him on the threshold of the reading-room, opposite the grand central gallery, the successive halls of which ran along at their feet. Behind them, the reading-room still retained its quiet air, only disturbed by the scratching of the pens and the rustling of the newspapers. One old gentleman had gone to sleep over the Moniteur. Monsieur de Boves was looking at the pictures, with the evident intention of losing his future son-in-law in the crowd as soon as possible. And, alone, amid this calmness, Madame Bourdelais was amusing her children, talking very loud, as in a conquered place.