Madame Potrelle entered first. Mignonne came behind her, with a timid, embarrassed air, in which one could read a serious and studied reserve. The concierge had not exaggerated when she said that her tenant had become a lovely woman. It was a long time since I had seen Mignonne, and I am not sure that I should have recognized her. She was remarkable for the refinement of her features, for the beauty of her coloring, which was not red, but a delicate pink, perfectly in harmony with her white skin; for her fair hair, which was neither colorless nor of too pronounced a tone; and, lastly, for the genuine _blueness_ of her eyes--a thing that is seldom seen, for most eyes that are called blue are of any color you please except that. And then, there was in Mignonne's whole aspect a touch of melancholy that made her doubly interesting, because it was in no wise affected; it seemed to me that everyone must, at sight of her, have a feeling of sympathy for her. Perhaps it was because I was acquainted with her misfortunes that I thought so. This much is certain: that, as I looked upon her, I was touched, deeply moved, and that in my feelings there was nothing resembling love, or the desires to which the sight of a pretty girl often gives birth. There was a large element of respect in the interest that she aroused in me. "Excuse me, monsieur," said Madame Potrelle, pushing Mignonne in front of her. "Here's Madame Landernoy; I told her there was something to be done to your waistcoats, with which you are well satisfied, all the same." "I regret the trouble you have taken, madame. However, it affords me the opportunity of congratulating you on the perfection of your work. I was fortunate in having you consent to work for me." I said this in a very cold tone and without fixing my eyes on Mignonne, who seemed to grow a little bolder and replied: "But your waistcoats don't fit, monsieur----" "Oh! I think that it's a very small matter; you are not a tailor, and, of course, you could not succeed in doing everything just right at the first trial; but if you will allow me to try on one of them in your presence----" "_Pardi!_ of course you must try 'em on," cried the concierge; "there's no other way to see what's wrong! and, after all, a waistcoat's different from a pair of breeches!" Mignonne lowered her eyes at Madame Potrelle's remark. I removed my coat and put on one of the waistcoats. Mignonne had no choice but to come to me and touch my chest and back, like a tailor taking my measure. But while she was making her examination, I was careful not to look at her once; so that she was somewhat reassured. "I see what needs to be done, monsieur: the collar is too low; it's not much to do, and then I think they'll fit very well. I will take them away with me, and to-morrow----" She hesitated, and I made haste to say: