“You know, the young ladies in the dress department are pulling long faces!” Then, interrupting himself, he added: “By the way, you remember Clara Primaire? Well, it appears the governor has------ You understand?” He had turned quite red. She, very pale, exclaimed: “Monsieur Mouret!” “Funny taste--eh?” he resumed. “A woman who looks like a horse. The little girl from the under-linen department, whom he had twice last year, was, at least, good-looking. However, that's his business.” Denise, once upstairs, almost fainted away. It was surely through coming up too quick. Leaning out of the window she had a sudden vision of Valognes, the deserted street and grassy pavement, which she used to see from her room as a child; and she was seized with a desire to go and live there--to seek refuge in the peace and forgetfulness of the country. Paris irritated her, she hated The Ladies' Paradise, she hardly knew why she had consented to go back. She would certainly suffer as much as ever there; she was already suffering from an unknown uneasiness since Deloche's stories. Suddenly, without any notice, a flood of tears forced her to leave the window. She wept on for some time, and found a little courage to live on still. The next day at breakfast-time, as Robineau had sent her on an errand, and she was passing The Old Elbeuf, she pushed open the door on seeing Colomban alone in the shop. The Baudus were breakfasting; she could hear the clatter of the knives and forks in the little room. “You can come in,” said the shopman. “They are at breakfast.” But she motioned him to be silent, and drew him into a corner. Then, lowering her voice, she said: “It's you I want to speak to. Have you no heart? Don't you see that Geneviève loves you, and that it's killing her.” She was trembling, the previous night's fever had taken possession of her again. He, frightened, surprised at this sudden attack, stood looking at her, without a word. “Do you hear?” she continued. “Geneviève knows you love another. She told me so. She wept like a child. Ah, poor girl! she isn't very strong now, I can tell you! If you had seen her thin arms! It's heart-breaking. You can't leave her to die like this!” At last he spoke, quite overcome. “But she isn't ill--you exaggerate! I don't see anything myself. Besides, it's her father who is postponing the marriage.” Denise sharply corrected this falsehood, certain that the least persistence on the part of the young man would decide her uncle. As to Colomban's surprise, it was not feigned; he had really never noticed Geneviève's slow agony. For him it was a very disagreeable revelation; for while he remained ignorant of it, he had no great blame to tax himself with.