But this was a falsehood. Clara nudged her neighbour. What was the matter with the “unkempt girl?” She was quite strange in her ways. One after the other she had received letters from her lover; then, she went running all over the shop like a madwoman, pretending to be going to the work-room, where she did not even make an appearance. There was something up, that was certain. Then Clara, eating her skate without disgust, with the indifference of a girl who had been used to nothing better than rancid bacon, spoke of a frightful drama, the account of which filled the newspapers. “You've heard about that man cutting his mistress's throat with a razor, haven't you?” “Well!” said a little quiet delicate-looking girl belonging to the under-linen department, “he found her with another fellow. Serve her right!” But Pauline protested. What! just because one had ceased to love a man, he should be allowed to cut your throat? Ah! no, never! And stopping all at once, she turned round to the waiter, saying: “Pierre, I can't get through this beef. Just tell them to do me an extra, an omelet, nice and soft, if possible.” To pass away the time, she took out some chocolate which she began eating with her bread, for she always had her pockets full of sweetmeats. “Certainly it isn't very amusing with such a fellow,” resumed Clara. “And some people are fearfully jealous, you know! Only the other day there was a workman who pitched his wife into a well.” She kept her eyes on Denise, thinking she had guessed her trouble on seeing her turn pale. Evidently this little prude was afraid of being beaten by her lover, whom she no doubt deceived. It would be a lark if he came right into the shop after her, as she seemed to fear he would. But the conversation took another turn, one of the girls was giving a recipe for cleaning velvet. They then went on to speak of a piece at the Gaiety, in which some darling little children danced better than any grown-up persons. Pauline, saddened for a moment at the sight of her omelet, which was overdone, resumed her gaiety on finding it went down fairly well. “Pass the wine,” said she to Denise. “You should go in for an omelet.” “Oh! the beef is enough for me,” replied the young girl, who, to avoid expense, confined herself to the food provided by the house, no matter how repugnant it might be. When the waiter brought in the baked rice, the young ladies protested. They had refused it the previous week, and hoped it would not appear again. Denise, inattentive, worrying about Jean after Clara's stories, was the only one to eat it; all the others looked at her with an air of disgust. There was a great demand for extras, they gorged themselves with jam. This was a sort of elegance, they felt obliged to feed themselves with their own money. “You know the gentlemen have complained,” said the little delicate girl from the under-linen department, “and the management has promised----”