"But it was my brother!" she cried with the grievous anger of an outraged virgin.
Marguerite and Clara began to laugh. Madame Frédéric, usually so discreet, shook her head with an incredulous air. Always her brother! Really it was very stupid! Denise looked round at all of them: at Bourdoncle, who had taken a dislike to her from the first; Jouve, who had stopped to serve as a witness, and from whom she expected no justice; and then at those girls whom she had not been able to soften by nine months of smiling courage, who were happy, in fact, to help in turning her out of doors. What was the use of struggling? what was the use of trying to impose herself on them when none of them liked her? And she went away without a word, not even casting another look at the room where she had so long battled. But as soon as she was alone, before the hall staircase, a deeper sense of suffering filled her heart. No one cared for her, and the sudden thought of Mouret had just deprived her of all resignation. No! no! she could not accept such a dismissal. Perhaps he would believe that villanous story of a rendezvous with a man down in the cellars. At this thought, a feeling of shame tortured her, an anguish with which she had never before been afflicted. She wished to go and see him to explain the matter to him, simply in order to let him know the truth; for she was quite ready to go away as soon as he should know it. And her old fear, the shiver which chilled her whenever she was in his presence, suddenly developed into an ardent desire to see him, not to leave the house in fact without telling him that she had never belonged to another.
It was nearly five o'clock, and the shop was waking into life again in the cool evening air. She quickly started off for Mouret's office. But when she reached the door, a hopeless, melancholy feeling again took possession of her. Her tongue refused its office, the intolerable burden of existence again fell on her shoulders. He would not believe her, he would laugh like the others, she thought; and this idea made her almost faint away. All was over, she would be better alone, out of the way, dead! And thereupon, without informing either Pauline or Deloche, she at once went for her money.
"You have twenty-two days, mademoiselle," said the clerk, "that makes eighteen francs and fourteen sous; to which must be added seven francs for commission. That's right, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir. Thanks."
And Denise was about to go off with her money, when she at last met Robineau. He had already heard of her dismissal, and promised to find the necktie-dealer. Then in a lower tone he tried to console her, but lost his temper: what an existence, to be at the continual mercy of a whim! to be thrown on to the pavement at an hour's notice, without even being able to claim a full month's salary. Denise went up to inform Madame Cabin that she would endeavour to send for her box during the evening. It was just striking five when she found herself on the pavement of the Place Gaillon, bewildered, in the midst of the crowd of people and vehicles.
That same evening when Robineau got home he received a letter from the management informing him, in a few lines, that for certain reasons relating to internal arrangements they were obliged to deprive themselves of his services. He had been at The Paradise for seven years, and only that afternoon had been talking to the principals. Thus it was a heavy blow for him. Hutin and Favier, however, were crowing in the silk department, as loudly as Clara and Marguerite in the other one. A jolly good riddance! Such clean sweeps made room for others! Deloche and Pauline were the only ones who when they met amidst the crush of the galleries exchanged distressful words, in their regret at the departure of Denise, so virtuous and gentle.
"Ah," said the young man, "if ever she succeeds anywhere else, I should like to see her come back here, and trample on all those good-for-nothing creatures!"
It was Bourdoncle who in this affair had to bear the brunt of Mouret's anger. When the latter heard of Denise's dismissal, he was exceedingly annoyed. As a rule he never interfered with the staff; but this time he affected to see an encroachment on his attributions, an attempt to over-ride his authority. Was he no longer master in the place, that they dared to give orders? Everything must pass through his hands, absolutely everything; and he would immediately crush any one who should resist. Then, after making personal inquiries, all the while in a nervous torment which he could not conceal, he again lost his temper. The poor girl had not lied; it was really her brother. Campion had fully recognised him. Why had she been sent away, then? He even spoke of taking her back.
However, Bourdoncle, strong is his passive resistance, bent before the storm. He studied Mouret, and one day when he saw him a little calmer he ventured to say in a meaning voice: "It's better for everybody that she's gone."