Bourdoncle alone still stood out. In the secret warfare which he carried on against the young girl, there was in the first place a natural antipathy. He detested her for her gentleness and her charm. Then too he fought against her as against a fatal influence which would place the house in peril on the day when Mouret should succumb. The governor's commercial genius seemed certain to founder in this stupid affection: all that they had gained by women would be swallowed up by this one. None of them touched Bourdoncle's heart, he treated them all with the disdain of a passionless man whose business was to live by them, and whose last illusions had been dispelled by seeing them so closely amidst the worries of his trade. And what made him especially anxious in the presence of this little saleswoman, who had gradually become so redoubtable, was that he did not in the least believe in her disinterestedness, in the genuineness of her refusals. In his opinion she was playing a part, the most skilful of parts, rendering Mouret absolutely mad, capable of any folly. Thus Bourdoncle could never now catch sight of her, with her clear eyes, sweet face, and simple attitude, without experiencing a real fear, as if he had before him some disguised female flesh-eater, the sombre enigma of woman, Death in the guise of a virgin. In what way could he possibly confound the tactics of this spurious novice? He was now only anxious to penetrate her artful ways, in the hope of exposing them to the light of day. She would certainly commit some fault at last; he would surprise her with one of her sweethearts, and she would again be dismissed. The house would then resume its regular working like a well-appointed machine. "Keep a good look-out, Monsieur Jouve," Bourdoncle kept saying to the inspector. "I'll take care that you shall be rewarded." But Jouve was somewhat lukewarm for he knew something about women, and asked himself whether he had not better take the part of this girl, who might be the sovereign mistress of the morrow. Though he did not now dare to touch her, he still thought her bewitchingly pretty. His colonel in bygone days had killed himself for a similar little thing, with an insignificant face, delicate and modest, one look from whom had ravaged all hearts. "I'm watching," he replied. "But, on my word, I cannot discover anything." And yet stories were circulating, there was quite a current of abominable tittle-tattle running beneath the flattery and respect which Denise felt arising around her. The whole house now declared that she had formerly had Hutin for a sweetheart; and they were suspected of still meeting from time to time. Deloche also was said to keep company with her; they were continually meeting in dark corners and talking for hours together. It was quite a scandal! "So, there's nothing about the first-hand in the silk department, or about the young man in the lace one?" asked Bourdoncle.