The door had remained half-open as the servant was bringing in the tea. He went out, came in again, placed the china service on the table and then brought some plates of sandwiches and biscuits. In the spacious room, a bright light, softened by the green plants, illumined the brass-work, and bathed the silk hangings in a tender glow; and each time the door opened one could perceive a dim corner of the ante-room, which was only lighted by two ground-glass windows. There, in the gloom, appeared a sombre form, motionless and patient. Denise was standing; there was indeed a leather-covered bench there, but a feeling of pride prevented her from sitting down on it. She felt the insult intended her. She had been there for the last half-hour, without a sign, without a word. The ladies and the baron had taken stock of her in passing; she could now just hear the voices from the drawing-room; all the pleasant luxury wounded her with its indifference; and still she did not move. Suddenly, however, through the half-open doorway, she perceived Mouret; and he, on his side, had at last guessed it to be her. "Is it one of your saleswomen?" asked Baron Hartmann. Mouret had succeeded in concealing his great distress of mind; still his voice trembled somewhat with emotion: "No doubt; but I don't know which." "It's the little fair girl from the mantle department," replied Madame Marty, obligingly, "the second-hand, I believe." Henriette looked at Mouret in her turn. "Ah!" said he, simply. And then he tried to change the conversation, speaking of the fêtes that were being given to the King of Prussia who had arrived in Paris the day before. But the baron maliciously reverted to the young ladies in the big establishments. He pretended to be desirous of gaining information, and put several questions: Where did they come from in general? Was their conduct as bad as it was said to be? Quite a discussion ensued. "Really," he repeated, "you think them well-behaved?" Mouret defended their conduct with a conviction which made Vallagnosc smile. Bouthemont then interfered, to save his chief. Of course, there were some of all sorts, bad and good, though they were all improving. Formerly they had secured nothing but the refuse of the trade; a poor, doubtful class of girls who had drifted into the drapery business; whereas now respectable families in the Rue de Sèvres positively brought up their daughters for the Bon Marché. In short, when they liked to conduct themselves well, they could; for they were not, like the work-girls of Paris, obliged to board and lodge themselves; they had bed and board given them, their existence, though an extremely hard one, no doubt, was at all events provided for. The worst was their neutral, ill-defined position, something between the shopwoman and the lady. Thrown into the midst of luxury, often without any primary instruction, they formed a nameless class apart from all others. Their misfortunes and vices sprang from that.