And he pursued her with this whilst she was returning to the shop, overcome with emotion, unable to find a word of defence. She was sorry now she had run away. Why hadn't she explained the matter, and brought her brother forward? They would now go and imagine all sorts of villanies, and say what she might, they would not believe her. Once more she forgot Robineau, and went straight to her counter. Jouve immediately went to the manager's office to report the matter. But the messenger told him Monsieur Mouret was with Monsieur Bourdoncle and Monsieur Robineau; they had been talking together for the last quarter of an hour. In fact, the door was halfopen, and he could hear Mouret gaily asking Robineau if he had had a pleasant holiday; there was not the least question of a dismissal--on the contrary, the conversation fell on certain things to be done in the department. “Do you want anything, Monsieur Jouve?” exclaimed Mouret “Come in.” But a sudden instinct warned the inspector. As Bourdoncle had come out, he preferred to relate the affair to him. They slowly passed through the shawl department, walking side by side, the one leaning over and talking in a low tone, the other listening, not a sign on his severe face betraying his impressions. “All right,” said the latter at last. And as they had arrived close to the dress department, he went in. Just at that moment Madame Aurélie was scolding Denise. Where had she come from, again? This time she couldn't say she had been to the work-room. Really, these continual absences could not be tolerated any longer. “Madame Aurélie!” cried Bourdoncle. He had decided on a bold stroke, not wishing to consult Mouret, for fear of some weakness. The first-hand came up, and the story was once more related in a low voice. They were all waiting in the expectation of some catastrophe. At last, Madame Aurélie turned round with a solemn air. “Mademoiselle Baudu!” And her puffy emperor's mask assumed the immobility of the all-powerful: “Go and be paid!” The terrible phrase sounded very loud in the empty department. Denise stood there pale as a ghost, without saying a word. At last she was able to ask in broken sentences: “Me! me! What for? What have I done?” Bourdoncle replied, harshly, that she knew very well, that she had better not provoke any explanation; and he spoke of the cravats, and said that it would be a fine thing if all the young ladies received men down in the basement. “But it was my brother!” cried she with the grievous anger of an outraged virgin.