"What is he doing?" answered Malaunay, expressing envy and admiration on his mobile face. "He is flirting with his lovely enemy. At Uriage they were always together."
"Yes, but at Grenoble they never see each other."
"They are keeping under cover. And yet you can believe that Mme. Derize is in no hurry to get her separation."
"Well, what will she do then?"
"Ah well, she will console herself. Once consoled, she will become reconciled to her husband. It will be a household of four. That is the custom in Paris."
For the little clerk, dazzled by Paris, was much impressed by its free habits. Always on the lookout for something new, and with his eye fixed on the door, he had only time to whisper "Take care!" to them. The chief entered. M. Tabourin had lunched well—too well, in fact. His face was scarlet, his hair—which he had to dampen a great deal to accomplish such a result—flat. Instead of adopting the new fashion and covering his linen with a high vest, he displayed a shirt front, which he had spotted in many places as a result of his lively excitable gestures. As he was finishing his cigar, he assumed the indifferent air of a man of the world, for the especial benefit of Malaunay, who was watching him carefully; but the first word of the head clerk aroused him.
"Madame Albert Derize is waiting for you in your office."
"Ah, ah," he said, "she is making up her mind at last. It is time to get a judgment by default."
A last hasty puff, and then he disappeared. A few minutes later, someone knocked at the office door.
"Maître Lagier," announced the junior clerk jokingly.