"Ah! good!" murmured Liénard, who had heard everything, "you're talking about the young girl with the sprain. You were quite right to make haste in defending her last night at the café!" Then he also ran off; but before he had returned to the woollen department, he had already related the story to four or five fellows. In less than ten minutes, it had gone the round of the whole shop. Liénard's last remark to Deloche referred to a scene which had occurred on the previous evening, at the Café Saint-Roch. Deloche and he were now constantly together. The former had taken Hutin's room at the Hôtel de Smyrne, when that gentleman, on being appointed second-hand, had hired a suite of three rooms; and the two salesmen came to The Ladies' Paradise together in the morning, and waited for each other in the evening in order to go away together. Their rooms, which adjoined one another, overlooked a black yard, a narrow well, the stench from which pervaded the hotel. They got on very well together, notwithstanding their difference of character, the one carelessly squandering the money which he drew from his father, and the other penniless, perpetually tormented by ideas of thrift; both having, however, one point in common, their unskilfulness as salesmen, which kept them vegetating at their counters, without any increase of salary. After leaving the shop, they spent the greater part of their time at the Café Saint-Roch. Void of customers during the day, this café filled at about half-past eight with an overflowing crowd of employees, the stream of shopmen which rolled into the street from the great doorway in the Place Gaillon. Then a deafening uproar of dominoes, laughter and yelping voices burst forth amidst dense tobacco smoke. Beer and coffee were in great demand. Seated in the left-hand corner, Liénard would order the most expensive beverages, whilst Deloche contented himself with a glass of beer, which he would take four hours to drink. It was here that the latter had heard Favier relating, at a neighbouring table, some abominable things about the way in which Denise had "hooked" the governor. He had with difficulty restrained himself from striking him. However, as the other went on adding still viler and viler stories of the girl, he had at last called him a liar, feeling mad with rage. "What a blackguard!" he had shouted. "It's a lie, it's a lie, I tell you!" And in the emotion agitating him, he had added a confession, entirely opening his heart in a stammering voice. "I know her, and it isn't true. She has never had any affection except for one man; yes, for Monsieur Hutin, and even he has never noticed it!"