“What errand?”
“The important one, about the portrait at the Salon.”
“Oh, yes; very well indeed. I must thank you.”
“She came?”
“Yes, with her father.”
“She must have been pleased! The drawing was so pretty. Plumet, who is not much of a talker, is never tired of praising it. I tell you, he and I did not spare ourselves. He made a bit of a fuss before he would take the order; he was in a hurry—such a hurry; but when he saw that I was bent on it he gave in. And it is not the first time he has given in. Plumet is a good soul, Monsieur Mouillard. When you know him better you will see what a good soul he is. Well, while he was cutting out the frame, I went to the porter’s wife. What a business it was! I am glad my errand was successful!”
“It was too good of you, Madame Plumet; but it was useless, alas! she is to marry another.”
“Marry another? Impossible!”
I thought Madame Plumet was about to faint. Had she heard that her son Pierre had the croup, she could not have been more upset. Her bosom heaved, she clasped her hands, and gazed at me with sorrowful compassion.
“Poor Monsieur Mouillard!”