"Well, mademoiselle, have you succeeded?" inquired a timid voice, as she at last reached the pavement. She turned round and recognised the tall, awkward young fellow who had spoken to her in the morning. He also had just come out of The Ladies' Paradise, and seemed even more frightened than herself, still bewildered by the examination through which he had just passed.
"I really don't know as yet, sir," she replied.
"You're like me, then. What a way they have of looking at you and talking to you in there—eh? I'm applying for a place in the lace department. I was at Crevecœur's in the Rue du Mail."
They were once more standing face to face; and, not knowing how to take leave, they again began to blush. Then the young man, by way of saying something, timidly ventured to ask in his good-natured, awkward way: "What is your name, mademoiselle?"
"Denise Baudu."
"My name is Henri Deloche."
Then they smiled, and, yielding to a fraternal feeling born of the similarity of their positions, shook each other by the hand.
"Good luck!" said Deloche.
"Yes, good luck!" was Denise's reply.