"But you've got nothing!" exclaimed Madame Desforges.
She stopped short, surprised to feel a hand laid on her shoulder. It was the hand of Madame Marty, who was being carried through the establishment by her fever for spending. Since the cravats, the embroidered gloves, and the red parasol, her purchases had increased to such an extent that the last salesman had just decided to place them all on a chair, as to have carried them on his arm, might have broken it; and he walked in front of her, drawing along the chair, upon which petticoats, napkins, curtains, a lamp, and three straw hats were heaped together.
"Ah!" said she, "you are buying a travelling cloak."
"Oh! dear, no," replied Madame Desforges; "they are frightful."
However Madame Marty had just noticed a striped cloak which she rather liked. Her daughter Valentine was already examining it. So Denise called Marguerite to clear the article out of the department, it being one of the previous year's patterns, and Marguerite, at a glance from her comrade, presented it as an exceptional bargain. When she had sworn that they had twice lowered the price, that they had reduced it from a hundred and fifty francs, to a hundred and thirty, and that it was now ticketed at a hundred and ten, Madame Marty could not withstand the temptation of its cheapness. She bought it, and the salesman who accompanied her thereupon went off, leaving the chair and the parcels behind him with all the debit-notes attached to the goods.
Whilst Marguerite was debiting the cloak, Madame Marty turned her head, and on catching sight of Clara made a slight sign to Madame Desforges, then whispered to her: "Monsieur Mouret's caprice, you know!"
The other, in surprise, looked round at Clara; and then, after again turning her eyes on Denise, replied: "But it isn't the tall one; it's the little one!"
And as Madame Marty could not be sure which of the two it was, Madame Desforges resumed aloud, with the scorn of a lady for chambermaids: "Perhaps both!"
Denise had heard everything, and raised her large, pure eyes on this lady who was thus wounding her, and whom she did not know. No doubt it was the lady of whom people had spoken to her, the lady with whom Mouret's name was so often associated. In the glances that were exchanged between them, Denise displayed such melancholy dignity, such frank innocence, that Henriette felt quite uncomfortable.
"As you have nothing presentable to show me here, conduct me to the dress and costume department," she said all at once.