“Jean and I understand each other,” said Madame, softly, preparing to pass on to her other guests.
“That is doubtless why I congratulate him,” said Romain, drawing aside to let her pass.
Jean was needed elsewhere; he made no attempt to continue his conversation with Romain. He did not know why, but it had made him feel a little uncomfortable.
It was only a small addition to the discomforts his pinched pride gave him every day. All these little pin-pricks together only amounted to the pain of a corn in a tight shoe. When the shoe made him most aware of its presence was in the disagreeable business interviews with the pupils. From the first Louis had sent him to collect money for the accounts. Jean copied them daily into the book from Flaubert’s notes; but the Toriallis’ pupils almost always disputed their accounts, and Jean’s dislike for these interviews increased daily.
“I can’t think what is the matter with these people,” he said at last to Louis. “I can understand some of them being mean—but so many of them are, men and women alike. And they seem so certain that they have had fewer lessons or shorter hours. I suppose there can’t be any mistakes in the accounts?”
“How can there be?” said Louis, looking at Jean rather hard. “I put them all down in a book myself, you know, exactly as they take place. Paris is full of cheats, and the worst of them are the rich.”
“Yes, but they aren’t all rich,” Jean answered. “Some of them are poor, and that makes it so much worse.”
“I haven’t the time to explain just now,” said Louis after a pause. “Be so kind as to write down the appointments for next week; and here, by the by, is Miss Vanderpool’s account. You may take that to her to-morrow.”
“Can’t I send it?” Jean asked.
“No! She always likes to argue things out,” said Flaubert. “She thinks she shows a business instinct. Mind you make her pay.”