The policeman at once questioned the young woman, and she gave the victim's name, profession, and address. Thanks to the driver's energy, the omnibus had swerved, and thus only Robineau's legs had gone under the wheels; however, it was to be feared that they were both broken. Four men carried him to a chemist's shop in the Rue Gaillon, whilst the omnibus slowly resumed its journey.
"My stars!" said the driver, whipping up his horses, "I've done a famous day's work."
Denise followed Robineau into the chemist's. The latter, pending the arrival of a doctor who was not to be found, declared that there was no immediate danger, and that the injured man had better be taken home, as he lived in the neighbourhood. A man then started off to the police-station for a stretcher, and Denise had the happy thought of going on in front so as to prepare Madame Robineau for this frightful blow. But she had the greatest trouble in the world to get into the street again through the crowd, which was struggling before the door of the chemist's shop. This crowd, attracted by death, was every minute increasing; men, women, and children stood on tip-toe, and held their own amidst brutal pushing; and each new-comer had his version to give of the accident, so that at last the victim was said to be a husband who had been pitched out of window by his wife's lover.
In the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs, Denise perceived, from a distance, Madame Robineau on the threshold of the silk warehouse. This gave her a pretext for stopping, and she talked on for a moment, trying to find a means of breaking the terrible news. The place wore the disorderly, neglectful aspect of a shop in the last agony, one whose business is fast dying. It was the inevitable end of the great battle of the rival silks; the Paris Delight had destroyed competition by a fresh reduction of a sou; it was now sold at four francs nineteen sous the mêtre, and Gaujean's silk had found its Waterloo. For the last two months Robineau, reduced to all sorts of shifts, had been leading a fearful life, trying to avert a declaration of bankruptcy.
"I saw your husband crossing the Place Gaillon," murmured Denise, who had ended by entering the shop.
Thereupon Madame Robineau, whom a secret anxiety seemed to be continually attracting towards the street, said quickly: "Ah, a little while ago, wasn't it? I'm waiting for him, he ought to be back by now. Monsieur Gaujean came this morning, and they went out together."
She was still charming, delicate, and gay; but was in a delicate state of health and seemed more frightened, more bewildered than ever by those dreadful business matters, which she did not understand, and which were all going wrong. As she often said, what was the use of it all? Would it not be better to live quietly in some small lodging, and be contented with modest fare?
"My dear child," she resumed with her pretty smile, which was becoming sadder, "we have nothing to conceal from you. Things are not going well, and my poor darling is worried to death. Again to-day this man Gaujean has been tormenting him about some overdue bills. I was dying with anxiety at being left here all alone."
And she was once more returning to the door when Denise stopped her, having heard the noise of a crowd and guessing that it was the injured man being brought along, surrounded by a mob of idlers anxious to see the end of the affair. And thereupon with her throat parched, unable to find the consoling words she would have liked to say, she had to explain the matter.
"Don't be anxious, there's no immediate danger. I've seen Monsieur Robineau, he has met with an accident. They are just bringing him home, pray don't be frightened."