Bourdoncle took the paper, carefully folded it, and put it in a drawer, saying: "You see it's in company; for ladies, after talking of dying rather than signing, generally forget to come and redeem these billets doux of theirs. However, I hold it at your disposal. You'll be able to judge whether it's worth two thousand francs."
But now that she had paid the forfeit she became as arrogant as ever. "I can go now?" she asked, in a sharp tone.
Bourdoncle was already occupied with other business. On Jouve's report, he decided on the dismissal of Deloche, a stupid fellow, who was always being robbed and who never had any authority over customers. Madame de Boves repeated her question, and as they dismissed her with an affirmative nod, she enveloped both of them in a murderous glance. Of the flood of insulting words that she kept back, one melodramatic cry escaped her lips. "Wretches!" said she, banging the door after her.
Meanwhile Blanche had not strayed far from the office. Her ignorance of what was going on inside and the coming and going of Jouve and the two saleswomen frightened her; she had visions of the police, the assize court, and the prison. But all at once she stopped short: for Vallagnosc was before her, that husband whom she had married but a month previously, and with whom she still felt rather awkward. And he questioned her, astonished at her bewildered appearance.
"Where's your mother? Have you lost each other? Come, tell me, you make me feel anxious."
Nothing in the way of a colourable fiction presented itself to her mind, and in great distress she told him everything in a low voice: "Mamma, mamma—she has been stealing."
"What! stealing?" At last he understood. His wife's bloated, livid countenance, ravaged by fear, terrified him.
"Some lace, like that, up her sleeve," she continued stammering.
"You saw her, then? You were looking on?" he murmured, chilled to feel that she had been a sort of accomplice.
They had to stop talking as several persons were already turning round. Hesitation full of anguish kept Vallagnosc motionless for a moment. What was to be done? He had made up his mind to go into Bourdoncle's office, when he perceived Mouret crossing the gallery. Thereupon, after telling his wife to wait for him, he caught hold of his old friend's arm and informed him of the affair, in broken sentences. The latter hastily took him into his office, where he soon put him at rest as to the possible consequences. He assured him that he need not interfere, and without appearing at all excited about this robbery, as if he had foreseen it long ago, he explained in what way it would all be arranged. Vallagnosc, however, even when he no longer feared an immediate arrest, did not accept the affair with this admirable coolness. He had thrown himself into an arm-chair, and now that he could discuss the matter, began to lament his own unfortunate position. Was it possible that he had married into a family of thieves? A stupid marriage that he had drifted into, just to please his wife's father! Surprised by his childish violence, Mouret watched him weeping, thinking the while of his former pessimist boasting. Had he not scores of times proclaimed the nothingness of life, in which wrong-doing alone had any attraction? And by way of diversion Mouret amused himself for a minute, by preaching indifference to his friend, in a friendly, bantering tone. But at this Vallagnosc got angry: he was quite unable to recover his philosophy, and with his middle-class breeding burst into virtuously indignant cries against his mother-in-law. As soon as trouble fell on himself, as soon as he was just touched by human suffering, at which he had always coldly laughed, the boastful sceptic collapsed and bled. It was abominable, they were dragging the honour of his race into the gutter, the world seemed to be coming to an end.