"And this great success is owing to you," said Camusot.
"Yes, surely. The Alcalde would have fallen flat but for him," cried Coralie; "if there had been no article, I should have been in for another six years of the Boulevard theatres."
She danced up to Lucien and flung her arms round him, putting an indescribable silken softness and sweetness into her enthusiasm. Love had come to Coralie. And Camusot? his eyes fell. Looking down after the wont of mankind in moments of sharp pain, he saw the seam of Lucien's boots, a deep yellow thread used by the best bootmakers of that time, in strong contrast with the glistening leather. The color of that seam had tinged his thoughts during a previous conversation with himself, as he sought to explain the presence of a mysterious pair of hessians in Coralie's fender. He remembered now that he had seen the name of "Gay, Rue de la Michodiere," printed in black letters on the soft white kid lining.
"You have a handsome pair of boots, sir," he said.
"Like everything else about him," said Coralie.
"I should be very glad of your bootmaker's address."
"Oh, how like the Rue des Bourdonnais to ask for a tradesman's address," cried Coralie. "Do you intend to patronize a young man's bootmaker? A nice young man you would make! Do keep to your own top-boots; they are the kind for a steady-going man with a wife and family and a mistress."
"Indeed, if you would take off one of your boots, sir, I should be very much obliged," persisted Camusot.
"I could not get it on again without a button-hook," said Lucien, flushing up.
"Berenice will fetch you one; we can do with some here," jeered
Camusot.