Marguerite and Clara began to laugh. Madame Frédéric, usually so discreet, shook her head with an incredulous air. Always her brother! Really it was very stupid! Denise looked round at all of them: at Bourdoncle, who had taken a dislike to her from the first; Jouve, who had stopped to serve as a witness, and from whom she expected no justice; and then at those girls whom she had not been able to soften by nine months of smiling courage, who were happy, in fact, to help in turning her out of doors. What was the use of struggling? what was the use of trying to impose herself on them when none of them liked her? And she went away without a word, not even casting another look at the room where she had so long battled. But as soon as she was alone, before the hall staircase, a deeper sense of suffering filled her heart. No one cared for her, and the sudden thought of Mouret had just deprived her of all resignation. No! no! she could not accept such a dismissal. Perhaps he would believe that villanous story of a rendezvous with a man down in the cellars. At this thought, a feeling of shame tortured her, an anguish with which she had never before been afflicted. She wished to go and see him to explain the matter to him, simply in order to let him know the truth; for she was quite ready to go away as soon as he should know it. And her old fear, the shiver which chilled her whenever she was in his presence, suddenly developed into an ardent desire to see him, not to leave the house in fact without telling him that she had never belonged to another. It was nearly five o'clock, and the shop was waking into life again in the cool evening air. She quickly started off for Mouret's office. But when she reached the door, a hopeless, melancholy feeling again took possession of her. Her tongue refused its office, the intolerable burden of existence again fell on her shoulders. He would not believe her, he would laugh like the others, she thought; and this idea made her almost faint away. All was over, she would be better alone, out of the way, dead! And thereupon, without informing either Pauline or Deloche, she at once went for her money. "You have twenty-two days, mademoiselle," said the clerk, "that makes eighteen francs and fourteen sous; to which must be added seven francs for commission. That's right, isn't it?" "Yes, sir. Thanks."