“They must be in the lace department—impossible to drag them away. I'll just see.” And he was gallant enough to procure them two chairs before going away.
In the lace department the crush was increasing every minute. The great show of white was there triumphing in its most delicate and dearest whiteness. It was an acute temptation, a mad desire, which bewildered all the women. The department had been turned into a white temple, tulles and Maltese lace, falling from above, formed a white sky, one of those cloudy veils which pales the morning sun. Bound the columns descended flounces of Malines and Valenciennes, white dancers' skirts, unfolding in a snowy shiver down to the ground. Then on all sides, on every counter, was a stream of white Spanish blonde as light as air, Brussels with its large flowers on a delicate mesh, hand-made point, and Venice point with heavier designs, Alençon point, and Bruges of royal and almost religious richness. It seemed that the god of dress had there set up his white tabernacle.
Madame de Boves, after wandering about for a long time before the counters with her daughter, and feeling a sensual desire to plunge her hands into the goods, had just decided to make Deloche show her some Alençon point. At first he brought out some imitation; but she wished to see some real Alençon, and was not satisfied with the little pieces at three hundred francs the yard, insisting on having deep flounces at a thousand francs a yard, handkerchiefs and fans at seven and eight hundred francs. The counter was soon covered with a fortune. In a corner of the department Jouve, the inspector, who had not lost sight of Madame de Boves, notwithstanding the latter's apparent dawdling, stood there amidst the crowd, with an indifferent air, but still keeping a sharp eye on her.
“Have you any in hand-made point?” she asked; “show me some, please.”
The salesman, whom she had kept there for twenty minutes, dared not resist, she appeared so aristocratic, with her imposing air and princess's voice. However, he hesitated, for the salesmen were cautioned against heaping up these precious fabrics, and he had allowed himself to be robbed of ten yards of Malines the week before. But she troubled him, he yielded, and abandoned the Alençon point for a moment to take the lace asked for from a drawer.
“Oh! look, mamma,” said Blanche, who was ransacking a box close by, full of cheap Valenciennes, “we might take some of this for pillow-cases.”
Madame de Boves not replying, her daughter on turning round saw her with her hands plunged amidst the lace, about to slip some Alençon up the sleeve of her mantle. She did not appear surprised, and moved forward instinctively to conceal her mother, when Jouve suddenly stood before them. He leant over, and politely murmured in the countess's ear:
“Have the kindness to follow me, madame.”
She hesitated for a moment, shocked.
“But what for, sir?”