"Very well done, Madame Potrelle! I see that your cats may serve a useful purpose on occasion."
"My cats! Why, monsieur, there's Mahon, the oldest one—he's every bit as good as a Newfoundland."
"Did the man you speak of come again?"
"Never. As you said, you can sweep out such fellows as that very quick. But about a week ago, the poor woman came into the house in a terrible fright, trembling all over. She rushed into my place, and said: 'Protect me! don't let him come in here, or I am lost!"
"Mon Dieu! whom had she seen? Her seducer, probably; that wretch who treated her so horribly!"
"I don't think it was him; for his name's Ernest, and that wasn't the name she said. 'He dares to pursue me again, the monster!'—Anyway, she had a terrible scare, for she hasn't dared to put her foot outdoors since that day."
"And she said nothing else?"
"No, monsieur; when I tried to ask her what had scared her so, she said: 'Oh! don't say anything more about it, Madame Potrelle; he's a villain who did me a great injury; but you mustn't let anybody come up to my room, and I shan't go out again for some time.'—Now, monsieur, I'm coming back to your waistcoats. As I have a shrewd knack of guessing when the waters are low—that is to say, when money is scarce, without being told, I says this morning to our young mother, while she was dandling the little girl on her lap: 'But,' I says,'you have some work here that you finished long ago: Monsieur Rochebrune's waistcoats.'—I took the liberty of mentioning your name, monsieur, because I know it from you giving me your address; and you didn't say anything about keeping it secret."
"No, Madame Potrelle; I told you that I had no reason for concealing my name, for I have no evil designs. Go on."
"'The waistcoats are done, that's true,' says Madame Landernoy, 'but I don't know if the gentleman will be satisfied. I did my very best; but as he don't come to get them——' 'Well,' I says, 'as he don't come to get them, why shouldn't we take 'em to him? It seems to me, that would be more polite, for he's rather a dandy, and he wouldn't want to carry a bundle.'—'Perhaps you're right,'she says, thoughtful like; 'but one thing's certain; I won't go to that gentleman's house.'—Do you see? she's still afraid—yes, she's still afraid of you! In spite of all I could say about you, she couldn't believe you would take an interest in her without some motive. You mustn't be angry, monsieur, for, as the proverb says: 'A burnt child dreads the fire.'"