Department stores -- Fiction; Paris (France) -- Fiction; Seduction -- Fiction; Women sales personnel -- Fiction
And then he walked off. Hutin, bewildered, furious, finding no one but
Favier to confide in, swore that he would go and throw his resignation
at the brute's head. But he soon left off talking of leaving, and began
to stir up all the abominable accusations which were current amongst
the salesmen against their chiefs. And Favier, his eyes sparkling,
defended himself with a great show of sympathy. He was obliged to
reply, wasn't he? Besides, could any one have foreseen such a row over
so trifling a matter? What had come on the governor lately, that he
should be so unbearable?
"We all know what's the matter with him," replied Hutin. "Is it my
fault if that little jade in the mantle department is turning his
head? My dear follow, you can see that the blow comes from there. He's
aware that she fancied me, and he doesn't like it; or perhaps it's she
herself who wants to get me dismissed because I'm in her way. But I
swear she shall hear from me, if ever she crosses my path."
Two days later, as Hutin was going into the work-rooms upstairs, under
the leads, to recommend a girl of his acquaintance, he started on
perceiving Denise and Deloche leaning against a window at the end of a
passage and plunged so deeply in private conversation that they did not
even turn round. The idea of having them caught there suddenly occurred
to him, when he perceived with astonishment that Deloche was weeping.
He at once went off without making any noise; and meeting Bourdoncle
and Jouve on the stairs, told them some story about one of the
fire-extinguishers, the door of which seemed to have been torn away;
in this manner they would go upstairs and drop on to the two others.
Bourdoncle discovered them first. He stopped short, and told Jouve to
go and fetch the governor, whilst he remained there. The inspector had
to obey, though greatly annoyed at being forced to mix himself up in
such a matter.
This was a lost corner of the vast world where the people of The
Ladies' Paradise bestirred themselves. You reached it by an intricate
network of stairs and passages. The work-rooms, situated in the
attics, were low sloping chambers, lighted by large windows cut in
the zinc roofing, and furnished solely with long tables and large
cast-iron stoves; and all along was a crowd of work-girls engaged on
the under-clothing, the lace, the upholstery and the dressmaking, and
living winter and summer in a stifling heat, amidst the odour peculiar
to the business. You had to skirt all these rooms, and turn to the
right after passing the dressmakers, before coming to the solitary
end of the corridor. The few customers, whom a salesman occasionally
brought here for an order, gasped for breath, tired out and frightened,
with the sensation of having turned round and round for hours, and of
being a hundred leagues above the street.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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