Mademoiselle Laura was the tall young woman we have mentioned; as she worked and talked, she kept her hips in motion as if she were dancing the cachucha. The forewoman's name was Mademoiselle Frotard, and she who had asked for the silk was a stout girl whose intelligence seemed to have been entirely absorbed by her corpulence; her name was Julienne, but her companions took the liberty of calling her Julie, Jules, and sometimes Potage. She had an excellent disposition and never lost her temper.
"Who's got the pink satin?"
"That will be a handsome dress—satin and velvet. Is it for a duchess?"
"Oh, no! it's for an actress at the Opéra-Comique; they dress ever so much better than the great ladies."
"Speaking of the Opéra-Comique, they say that there's boxes there with salons; is that so, Mamzelle Laura?"
"Well, rather, nephew."
"Come, come, mesdemoiselles, we must work and not idle so; here's a wedding dress that must be done to-morrow; Madame Dumanchon has promised it."
"It seems to me, we work well enough, mademoiselle; we don't take our eyes off our work. What more do you expect us to do? We haven't got twenty fingers!"
"That's all right, Mademoiselle Augustine; do you think I don't see you laughing and looking at Euphémie, who can't do anything but laugh? Humph! how stupid it is to laugh all the time, at the least thing—and often without knowing why!"
"I never laugh without knowing what I'm laughing at, mademoiselle! You're mistaken; I know very well what I'm laughing at."