"There was a little doubt left in her mind; but then she says: 'I may as well do this work, as that gentleman will come here to get it.'"
"So that my shirts are done?"
"Yes, monsieur; they've been here more'n five weeks, with the little bill; and in the last few days Madame Landernoy's asked me two or three times if you'd been or sent anybody to get your shirts—because, I guess—just now—— Dame! monsieur, work ain't always very plenty, you understand; and now that she's got a child, she has to have a stove in her room, because she don't want her daughter to take cold."
"I understand, madame; I am very, very sorry that I delayed so about coming. Give me the bill at once."
"Take your shirts first and see how well they're done! Such sewing! it's perfect!"
The concierge had taken a parcel from her commode; but I pushed it away, saying:
"I am sure they are well done. But the bill, the bill!"
"I'll give it to you, monsieur. I'm sorry you won't look at your shirts. Here's the bill—yes, that's it."
I looked to see what I owed, and read:
"For making twelve shirts—twenty-seven francs."