Just as Denise went down, Favier was measuring a dress length of light silk, with pink spots, for Madame Boutarel, who had arrived in Paris from the South on the previous day. Since the commencement of the month, the provinces had been sending up their detachments; you saw nothing but queerly-dressed dames in yellow shawls, green skirts, and flaring bonnets. But the shopmen were even too indolent to laugh at them. Favier accompanied Madame Boutarel to the mercery department, and on returning, remarked to Hutin:
"Yesterday they were all Auvergnat women, to-day they're all Provençales. I'm sick of them."
But just then Hutin rushed forward, for it was his turn, and he had recognised "the pretty lady," the lovely blonde thus nicknamed by the department which knew nothing about her, not even her name. They all smiled at her, not a week passed without her coming to The Ladies' Paradise, hitherto always alone. This time, however, she had a little boy of four or five with her, and this gave rise to various comments.
"She's married, then?" asked Favier, when Hutin returned from the pay-desk, where he had debited her with thirty yards of Duchess satin.
"Possibly," replied he, "although the youngster proves nothing. Perhaps he belongs to a lady friend. What's certain is, that she must have been weeping. She was awfully melancholy, and her eyes were so red!"
A silence ensued. The two salesmen gazed vaguely into the depths of the shop. Then Favier resumed in a low voice: "If she's married, perhaps her husband's smacked her face."
"Possibly," repeated Hutin, "unless a lover has played her false." And after a fresh silence, he added: "Any way, I don't care a hang!"
At this moment Denise crossed the silk department, slackening her steps and looking around her, in search of Robineau. She could not see him, so she went into the linen department, then passed through again. The two salesmen had noticed her movements.
"There's that bag of bones again," murmured Hutin.
"She's looking for Robineau," said Favier. "I can't think what they get up to together. Oh! nothing wrong. But they say Robineau has procured her a little work, some neckties. What a spec, eh?"