When Denise returned from this dreamy state, from this fanciful development of The Ladies' Paradise, in which her thoughts floated as in a vast solitude, she found that Deloche had seized her hand. And he appeared so woe-begone, so full of grief, that she had not the heart to draw it away.
“Forgive me,” he murmured. “It's all over now; I should be quite too miserable if you punished me by withdrawing your friendship. I assure you I intended to say something else. Yes, I had determined to understand the situation and be very good.” His tears again began to flow, he tried to steady his voice. “For I know my lot in life. It is too late for my luck to turn. Beaten at home, beaten in Paris, beaten everywhere. I've now been here four years and am still the last in the department So I wanted to tell you not to trouble on my account. I won't annoy you any longer. Try to be happy, love some one else; yes, that would really be a pleasure for me. If you are happy, I shall be also. That will be my happiness.”
He could say no more. As if to seal his promise he raised the young girl's hand to his lips—kissing it with the humble kiss of a slave. She was deeply affected, and said simply, in a tender, sisterly tone, which attenuated somewhat the pity of the words:
“My poor boy!”
But they started, and turned round; Mouret was standing before them.
For the last ten minutes, Jouve had been searching for the governor all over the place; but the latter was looking at the works going on for the new façade in the Rue du Dix-Décembre. He spent long hours there every day, trying to interest himself in this work, of which he had so long dreamed. This was his refuge against his torments, amidst the masons laying the immense corner-stones, and the engineers setting up the great iron framework. The façade already appeared above the level of the street, indicating the vast porch, and the windows of the first storey, a palace-like development in its crude state. He scaled the ladders, discussing with the architect the ornamentation which was to be something quite new, scrambled over the heaps of brick and iron, and even went down into the cellar; and the roar of the steam-engine, the tic-tac of the trowels, the noise of the hammers, the clamour of this people of workmen, all over this immense cage surrounded by sonorous planks, really distracted him for an instant. He came out white with plaster, black with iron-filings, his feet splashed by the water from the pumps, his pain so far from being cured that his anguish returned and his heart beat stronger than ever, as the noise of the works died away behind him. It so happened, on the day in question, a slight distraction had restored him his gaiety, and he was deeply interested in an album of drawings of the mosaics and enamelled terra-cottas which were to decorate the friezes, when Jouve came up to fetch him, out of breath, annoyed at being obliged to dirty his coat amongst all this building material. At first Mouret had cried out that they must wait; then, at a word spoken in a low tone by the inspector, he had immediately followed him, shivering, a prey again to his passion. Nothing else existed, the façade crumbled away before being built; what was the use of this supreme triumph of his pride, if the simple name of a woman whispered in his ear tortured him to this extent.
Upstairs, Bourdoncle and Jouve thought it prudent to vanish. Deloche had already run away, Denise alone remained to face Mouret, paler than usual, but looking straight into his eyes.
“Have the kindness to follow me, mademoiselle,” said he in a harsh voice.
She followed him, they descended the two storeys, and crossed the furniture and carpet departments without saying a word. When he arrived at his office, he opened the door wide, saying, “Walk in, mademoiselle.”
And, closing the door, he went to his desk. The new director's office was fitted up more luxuriously than the old one, the reps hangings had been replaced by velvet ones, and a book-case, incrusted with ivory, occupied one whole side; but on the walls there was still no picture but the portrait of Madame Hédouin, a young woman with a handsome calm face, smiling in its gold frame.