woman had failed, become bankrupt, thus carrying off her eighteen francs six sous, a considerable sum on which she had been counting for the last week. All the annoyances in the department disappeared before this disaster. “You look dull,” said Pauline, meeting her in the furniture gallery, looking very pale. “Are you in want of anything?” But as Denise already owed her friend twelve francs, she tried to smile and replied: “No, thanks. I've not slept well, that's all.” It was the twentieth of July, when the panic caused by the dismissals was at its worst. Out of the four hundred employees, Bourdoncle had already sacked fifty, and there were rumours of fresh executions. She thought but little of the menaces which were flying about, entirely taken up by the anguish of one of Jean's adventures, still more terrifying than the others. This very day he wanted fifteen francs, which sum alone could save him from the vengeance of an outraged husband. The previous evening she had received the first letter opening the drama; then, one after the other, came two more; in the last, which she was finishing when Pauline met her, Jean announced his death for that evening, if she did not send the money. She was in agony. Impossible to take it out of Pépé's board, paid two days before. Every sort of bad luck was pursuing her, for she had hoped to get her eighteen francs six sous through Robineau, who could perhaps find the necktie-dealer; but Robineau having got a fortnight's holiday, had not returned the previous night as he was expected to do. However, Pauline still questioned her in a friendly way; when they met, in an out-of-the-way department, they conversed for a few minutes, keeping a sharp look-out the while. Suddenly, Pauline made a move as if to run off, having observed the white tie of an inspector who was coming out of the shawl department. “Ah! it's only old Jouve!” murmured she in a relieved tone. “I can't think what makes the old man grin as he does when he sees us together. In your place I should beware, for he's too kind to you. He's an old humbug, as spiteful as a cat, and thinks he's still got his troopers to talk to.” It was quite true; Jouve was detested by all the salespeople for the severity of his treatment. More than half the dismissals were the result of his reports; and with his big red nose of a rakish ex-captain, he only exercised his leniency in the departments served by women. “Why should I be afraid?” asked Denise. “Well!” replied Pauline, laughing, “perhaps he may exact some return. Several of the young ladies try to keep well with him.” Jouve had gone away, pretending not to see them; and they heard him dropping on to a salesman in the lace department, guilty of watching a fallen horse in the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin. “By the way,” resumed Pauline, “weren't you looking for Monsieur Robineau yesterday? He's come back.”