“Really! she had some one?” asked a little saleswoman, fresh in the department. “The bath-man of course!” replied Clara. “Mustn't trust those sly, quiet widows.” Then while Marguerite was debiting, Madam Marty turned her head and desired Clara by a slight movement of the eyebrows, she whispered to Madame Desforges: “Monsieur Mouret's caprice, you know!” The other, surprised, looked at Clara; then, turning her eyes towards Denise, replied: “But it isn't the tall one; the little one!” And as Madame Marty could not be sure which, Madame Desforges resumed aloud, with the scorn of a lady for chambermaids: “Perhaps the tall one and the little one; all those who like!” Denise had heard everything. She turned pale, and raised her big, pure eyes on this lady who was thus wounding her, and whom she did not know. No doubt it was the lady of whom they had spoken to her, the lady whom the governor saw outside. In the look that was exchanged between them, Denise displayed such a melancholy dignity, such a frank innocence, that Henriette felt quite awkward. “As you have nothing presentable to show me here, conduct me to the dress and costume department,” said she, abruptly. “I'll go with you as well,” exclaimed Madame Marty, “I wanted to see a costume for Valentine.” Marguerite took the chair by its back, and dragged it along on its hind feet, that were getting worn by this species of cartage. Denise only carried a few yards of silk, bought by Madame Desforges. It was quite a journey, now that the robes and costumes were on the second floor, at the other end of the establishment.