And she returned to her place, leaving the two others very crestfallen. Denise, who had heard all, followed her with a look of thanks, while Madame Aurélie gave our heroine a book of debit-notes with her name on it, saying: “To-morrow you'll get yourself up better; and, now, try and pick up the ways of the house, wait your turn for selling. To-day's work will be very hard; we shall be able to judge of your capabilities.” However, the department still remained deserted; very few customers came up at this early hour. The young ladies reserved themselves, prudently preparing for the fatigues of the afternoon. Denise, intimidated by the thought that they were watching her, sharpened her pencil, for the sake of something to do; then, imitating the others, she stuck it into her bosom, between two buttonholes, and summoned up all her courage, determined to conquer a position. The previous evening they had told her she entered as a probationer, that is to say without any fixed salary; she would simply have the commission and a certain allowance on everything she sold. But she fully hoped to earn twelve hundred francs a year in this way, knowing that the good saleswomen earned as much as two thousand, when they liked to take the trouble. Her expenses were regulated; a hundred francs a month would enable her to pay Pépé's board and lodging, assist Jean, who did not earn a sou, and procure some clothes and linen for herself. But, in order to attain this large sum, she would have to show herself industrious and pushing, taking no notice of the ill-will displayed by those around her, fighting for her share, even snatching it from her comrades if necessary. As she was thus working herself up for the struggle, a tall young man, passing the department, smiled at her; and when she saw it was Deloche, who had been engaged in the lace department the previous day, she returned his smile, happy at the friendship which thus presented itself, accepting this smile as a good omen.
At half-past nine a bell rang for the first luncheon. Then a fresh peal announced the second; and still no customers appeared. The second-hand, Madame Frédéric, who, in her disagreeable widow's harshness, delighted in prophesying disasters, declared in short sentences that the day was lost, that they would not see a soul, that they might close the cupboards and go away; predictions which darkened Marguerite's flat face, she being a girl who looked sharp after her profits, whilst Clara, with her runaway-horse appearance, was already dreaming of an excursion to the Verrières woods, if the house failed. As for Madame Aurélie, she was there, silent and serious, promenading her Cæsar-like mask about the empty department, like a general who has a certain responsibility in victory and in defeat. About eleven o'clock a few ladies appeared. Denise's turn for serving had arrived. Just at that moment a customer came up.
“The fat old girl from the country,” murmured Marguerite.
It was a woman of forty-five, who occasionally journeyed to Paris from the depths of some out-of-the-way place. There she saved up for months; then, hardly out of the train, she made straight for The Ladies' Paradise, and spent all her savings. She very rarely ordered anything by letter, she liked to see and handle the goods, and laid in a stock of everything, even down to needles, which she said were excessively dear in her small town. The whole staff knew her, that her name was Boutarel, and that she lived at Albi, but troubled no further about her, neither about her position nor her mode of life.
“How do you do, madame?” graciously asked Madame Aurélie, who had come forward. “And what can we show you? You shall be attended to at once.” Then, turning round: “Now, young ladies!”
Denise approached; but Clara had sprung forward. As a rule, she was very careless and idle, not caring about the money she earned in the shop, as she could get plenty outside, without trouble. But the idea of doing the new-comer out of a good customer spurred her on.
“I beg your pardon, it's my turn,” said Denise, indignantly. Madame Aurélie set her aside with a severe look, saying: “There are no turns. I alone am mistress here. Wait till you know, before serving our regular customers.”
The young girl retired, and as the tears were coming in her eyes, and she wished to conceal this excess of sensibility, she turned her back, standing up before the window, pretending to be looking into the street. Were they going to prevent her selling? Would they all arrange together to deprive her of the important sales, like that? A fear for the future seized her, she felt herself crushed between so many interests let loose. Yielding to the bitterness of her abandonment, her forehead against the cold glass, she gazed at The Old Elbeuf opposite, thinking she ought to have implored her uncle to keep her. Perhaps he himself regretted his decision, for he seemed to her greatly affected the previous evening. Now she was quite alone in this vast house, where no one liked her, where she found herself hurt, lost. Pépé and Jean, who had never left her side, were living with strangers; it was a cruel separation, and the big tears which she kept back made the street dance in a sort of fog. All this time, the hum of voices continued behind her.
“This one makes me look a fright,” Madame Boutarel was saying.
“You really make a mistake, madame,” said Clara; “the shoulders fit perfectly—but perhaps you would prefer a pelisse to a mantle?”