Favier was just then engaged in measuring some white silk for “the pretty lady,” that elegant blonde, a frequent customer at the counter, and whom the salesmen never referred to except by this name. She had dealt at the shop for years, and yet they knew nothing about her—neither her life, her address, and not even her name. None of them tried to find out, although they all indulged in supposition every time she made her appearance, but simply for something to talk about. She was getting thinner, she was getting stouter, she had slept well, or she must have been out late the previous night—such were the remarks made about her: thus every little fact of her unknown life, outside events, domestic dramas, were in this way reproduced and commented on. That day she seemed very gay. So, on returning from the pay-desk where he had conducted her, Favier remarked to Hutin:
“Perhaps she's going to marry again.”
“What! is she a widow?” asked the other.
“I don't know; but you must remember that she was in mourning the last time she came. Unless she's made some money by speculating on the Bourse.” A silence ensued. At last he ended by saying: “But that's her business. It wouldn't do to take notice of all the women we see here.”
But Hutin was looking very thoughtful, having had, two days ago, a warm discussion with the direction, and feeling himself condemned. After the great sale his dismissal was certain. For a long time he had felt his position giving way; at the last stock-taking they had complained of his being below the amount of business fixed on in advance; and it was also, in fact chiefly, the slow working of the appetites that were swallowing him up in his turn—the whole silent war of the department, amidst the very motion of the machine. Favier's obscure mining could be perceived—a deadened sound as of jaw-bones working under the earth. The latter had already received the promise of the first-hand's place. Hutin, who was aware of all this, instead of attacking his old comrade, looked upon him as a clever fellow—a fellow who had always appeared so cold, so obedient, whom he had made use of to turn out Robineau and Bouthemont! He was full of a feeling of mingled surprise and respect.
“By the way,” resumed Favier, “she's going to stay, you know. The governor has just been seen casting sheep's eyes at her. I shall be let in for a bottle of champagne over it.”
He referred to Denise. The gossip was going on more than ever, from one counter to the other, across the constantly increasing crowd of customers. The silk sellers were especially excited, for they had been taking heavy bets about it.
“By Jove!” exclaimed Hutin, waking up as if from a dream, “wasn't I a flat not to have slept with her! I should be all right now!”
Then he blushed at this confession on seeing Favier laughing. He pretended to laugh also, and added, to recall his words, that it was this creature that had ruined him with the management However, a desire for violence seizing him, he finished by getting into a rage with the salesmen disbanded under the assault of the customers. But all at once he resumed his smile, having just perceived Madame Desforges and Madame Guibal slowly crossing the department.
“What can we serve you with to-day, madame?”