"I would like to give Madame Landernoy other work to do."
"But you can't go on having shirts made forever."
"Mon Dieu! what can I give her? Ah! does she make waistcoats?"
"I believe she tried one for the landlord's little boy; but they said it was a failure. Still, that little fellow's terrible hard to suit; he had his cap made over five times, and finally swore he'd have a three-cornered hat! He's so spoiled that he's unreasonable. But just let him try again to set my cats fighting!"
"Then it's understood, madame, that I am to buy some material for waistcoat fronts, which I will bring you, together with a pattern, and you are to give the work to Madame Landernoy to do, and tell her not to worry; that her customer isn't exacting, that I am having them made for someone in the country."
The concierge dropped her cats to shake hands with me.
"I understand you, monsieur," she said; "you're afraid the young mother won't have work enough; you mean to give her work, by hook or by crook. You're interested in her, and I'll bet that she makes a mistake to suspicion you. Oh! I know what's what, I do; I can scent one of those empty-headed puppies who comes to talk nonsense, when he's a mile away! They don't go about it the way you do; they slip a piece of money in my hand, with a little note that smells of musk and hair oil, and then they examine the house and the yard and the windows as if they meant to break in. I know 'em, I know 'em!"
"No, Madame Potrelle, I am not a lover—here, at all events."
"Pardi! I can understand that you may be, somewhere else. It would be a pity if you didn't think about such things, at your age."
"I will go and buy the material and bring it to you."