“What is it?” murmured she; “are we going to move?” This surprise appeared to amuse Mouret, who adored these sensational effects. Early in February Denise had returned to The Ladies' Paradise, where she had been agreeably surprised to find the staff polite, almost respectful. Madame Aurélie especially was very kind; Marguerite and Clara seemed resigned; even down to old Jouve, who also bowed his head, with an awkward embarrassed air, as if desirous of effacing the disagreeable memory of the past. It sufficed that Mouret had said a few words, everybody was whispering, following her with their eyes. And in this general amiability, the only things that wounded her were Deloche's singularly melancholy looks, and Paulines inexplicable smiles. However, Mouret was still looking at her in his delighted way. “What is it you want, mademoiselle?” asked he at last. Denise had noticed him. She blushed slightly. Since her return she had received marks of kindness from him which greatly touched her. Pauline, without her knowing why, had given her a full account of the governor's and Clara's love affairs: where he saw her, and what he paid her; and she often returned to the subject, even adding that he had another mistress, that Madame Desforges, well known by all the shop. Such stories stirred up Denise, she felt in his presence all her former fears, an uneasiness in which her gratitude was struggling against her anger. “It's all this confusion going on in the place,” she murmured. Mouret then approached her and said in a lower voice: “Have the goodness to come to my office this evening after business. I wish to speak to you.” Greatly agitated, she bowed her head without saying a word. And she went into the department where the other saleswomen were now arriving. But Bourdoncle had overheard Mouret, and he looked at him with a smile. He even ventured to say when they were alone: “That girl again! Be careful; it will end by being serious!” Mouret hastily defended himself, concealing his emotion beneath an air of superior indifference. “Never fear, it's only a joke! The woman who'll catch me isn't born, my dear fellow!” And as the shop was opening at last, he rushed off to give a final look at the various counters. Bourdoncle shook his head. This Denise, so simple and quiet, began to make him uneasy. The first time, he had conquered by a brutal dismissal. But she had reappeared, and he felt she had become so strong that he now treated her as a redoubtable adversary, remaining mute before her, patiently waiting. Mouret, whom he caught up, was shouting out downstairs, in the Saint-Augustin Hall, opposite the entrance door: “Are you playing with me? I ordered the blue parasols to be put as a border. Just pull all that down, and be quick about it!”