He had just taken a restaurant at Vincennes. It was an old, cherished idea, slyly nourished while he was struggling in the silk business, trembling for fear he should not sell it before the crash came, and swearing to himself that he would put his money into an undertaking where he could rob at his ease. The idea of a restaurant had struck him at the wedding of a cousin, who had been made to pay ten francs for a bowl of dish water, in which floated some Italian paste. And, in presence of the Robineaus, the joy he felt in having saddled them with a badly-paying business of which he despaired of ever getting rid, enlarged still further his face with its round eyes and large loyal-looking mouth, a face beaming with health. “And your pains?” asked Madame Robineau, good-naturedly. “My pains?” murmured he, astonished. “Yes, those rheumatic pains which tormented you so much when you were here.” He then recollected, and blushed slightly. “Oh, I suffered,” and blushed slightly. “Oh I suffer from them still! However, the country air, you know, has done wonders for me. Never mind, you've done a good stroke of business. Had it not been for my rheumatics, I could soon have retired with ten thousand francs a year. My word of honour!” A fortnight later, the struggle commenced between Robineau and The Ladies' Paradise. It became celebrated, and occupied for a time the whole Parisian market. Robineau, using his adversary's weapons, had advertised extensively in the newspapers. Besides that, he made a fine display, piling up enormous bales of the famous silk in his windows, with immense white tickets, displaying in giant figures the price, five francs and a half. It was this figure that caused a revolution among the women; two sous cheaper than at The Ladies' Paradise, and the silk appeared stronger. From the first day a crowd of customers flocked in. Madame Marty bought a dress she did not want, pretending it to be a bargain; Madame Bourdelais thought the silk very fine, but preferred waiting, guessing no doubt what would happen. And, indeed the following week, Mouret boldly reduced The Paris Paradise by four sous, after a lively discussion with Bourdoncle and the other managers, in which he had succeeded in inducing them to accept the challenge, even at a sacrifice; for these four sous represented a dead loss, the silk being sold already at strict cost price. It was a heavy blow to Robineau, who did not think his rival would reduce; for this suicidal competition, these losing sales, were then unknown; and the tide of customers, attracted by the cheapness, had immediately flown back towards the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, whilst the shop in the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs gradually emptied.