"Do you know what I'm thinking of, Elisabeth?" said Baudu at last. "Well! those Lhommes may earn as much money as they like, I'd rather be in my shoes than theirs. They get on well, it's true. The wife said, didn't she? that she had made nearly twenty thousand francs this year, and that had enabled her to take my poor house. Never mind! I've no longer got the house, but I don't go playing music in one direction, whilst you are gadding about in the other. No, look you, they can't be happy." He was still keenly fretting over the sacrifice he had been compelled to make, full of rancour against those people who had bought up his darling dream. When ever he came near the bed, he leant over his wife and gesticulated, then, returning to the window, he stood silent for a minute, listening to the noise of the works. And again he vented his old accusations, his despairing complaints about the new times; nobody had ever seen such things, shop-assistants now earned more than tradesmen, cashiers bought up employers' property. So no wonder that everything was going to the dogs; family ties no longer existed, people lived at hotels instead of eating their meals at home in a respectable manner. At last he ended by prophesying that young Albert would swallow up the Rambouillet property later on with a lot of actresses. Madame Baudu listened to him, her head flat on the pillow, and so pale that her face seemed the colour of the sheets. "They've paid you," she at length said softly. At this Baudu became dumb. He walked about for an instant with his eyes on the ground. Then he resumed: "They've paid me, 'tis true; and, after all, their money is as good as another's. It would be funny if we revived the business with this money. Ah! if I were not so old and worn out!" A long silence ensued. The draper was full of vague projects. Suddenly, without moving her head, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, his wife spoke again: "Have you noticed your daughter lately?" "No," he replied. "Well! she makes me rather anxious. She's getting pale, she seems to be pining away." He stood before the bed, full of surprise. "Really! whatever for? If she's ill she should say so. To-morrow we must send for the doctor." Madame Baudu still remained motionless; but after a time, she declared, with her meditative air: "I think it would be better to get this marriage with Colomban over." He looked at her and then began walking about again. Certain things came back to his mind. Was it possible that his daughter was falling ill over the shopman? Did she love him so much that she could not wait? Here was another misfortune! It worried him all the more from the circumstance that he himself had fixed ideas about this marriage. He could never consent to it in the present state of affairs. However, his anxiety softened him. "Very good," said he at last, "I'll speak to Colomban."