“I say,” murmured Favier, on going to take some velvet from a shelf behind Hutin, “there's Bouthemont making up to your mash.”
Hutin had forgotten Madame Desforges, beside himself with rage with an old lady, who, after having kept him a quarter of an hour, had finished by buying a yard of black satin for a pair of stays. In the busy moments they took no notice of the turns, each salesman served the customers as they arrived. And he was answering Madame Boutarel, who was finishing her afternoon at The Ladies' Paradise, where she had already spent three hours in the morning, when Favier's warning made him start. Was he going to miss the governor's friend, from whom he had sworn to draw a five franc piece? That would be the height of ill-luck, for he hadn't made three francs as yet with all those other chignons who were mooning about the place! Bouthemont was just then calling out loudly:
“Come, gentlemen, some one this way!”
Hutin passed Madame Boutarel over to Robineau, who was doing nothing.
“Here's the second-hand, madame. He will answer you better than I can.”
And he rushed off to take Madame Marty's purchases from the woollen salesman who had accompanied the ladies. That day a nervous excitement must have troubled his delicate scent. As a rule, the first glance told him if a customer would buy, and how much. Then he domineered over the customer, he hastened to serve her to pass on to another, imposing his choice on her, persuading her that he knew best what material she wanted.
“What sort of silk, madame?” asked he in his most gallant manner. Madame Desforges had no sooner opened her mouth than he added: “I know, I've got just what you want.”
When the piece of Paris Paradise was unfolded on a narrow corner of the counter, between heaps of other silks, Madame Marty and her daughter approached. Hutin, rather anxious, understood that it was at first a question of serving these two. Whispered words were exchanged, Madame Desforges was advising her friend.
“Oh! certainly,” murmured she. “A silk at five francs twelve sous will never be equal to one at fifteen, or even ten.”
“It is very light,” repeated Madame Marty. “I'm afraid that it has not sufficient body for a mantle.”