The latter got up, and returned to the department, where she was greeted by a whispering on all sides. Joseph, exposed to the laughing eyes of these young minxes, was writing anyhow. Clara, delighted with this assistant who arrived, was yet very rough with her, hating her as she hated all the women in the shop. What an idiotic thing to yield to the love of a workman, when one was a marchioness! And yet she envied her this love. “Very good!” repeated Mouret, still affecting to read. However Madame Aurélie hardly knew how to get away in her turn in a decent fashion. She stamped about, went to look at the knives, furious with her husband for not inventing a pretext for calling her; but he was never any good for serious matters, he would have died of thirst close to a pond. It was Marguerite who was intelligent enough to go and ask the first-hand a question. “I'm coming,” replied the latter. And her dignity being now protected, having a pretext in the eyes of the young ladies who were watching her, she at last left Denise and Mouret alone together, going out with her imperial air, her profile so noble, that the saleswomen did not even dare to smile. Mouret had slowly laid the lists on the table, and stood looking at the young girl, who had remained seated, pen in hand. She did not avert her gaze, but she had turned paler. “You will come this evening?” asked he. “No, sir, I cannot. My brothers are to be at uncle's to-night, and I have promised to dine with them.” “But your foot! You walk with such difficulty.” “Oh, I can get so far very well. I feel much better since the morning.” He had now turned pale in his turn, before this quiet refusal. A nervous revolt agitated his lips. However, he restrained himself, and resumed with the air of a good-natured master simply interesting himself in one of his young ladies: “Come now, if I begged of you--You know what great esteem I have for you.” Denise retained her respectful attitude. “I am greatly touched, sir, by your kindness to me, and I thank you for this invitation. But I repeat, I cannot; my brothers expect me.” She persisted in not understanding. The door remained open, and she felt that the whole shop was pushing her on to yield. Pauline had amicably called her a great simpleton, the others would laugh at her if she refused the invitation. Madame Aurélie, who had gone away, Marguerite, whose rising voice she could hear, Lhomme, with his motionless, discreet attitude, all these people were wishing for her fall, throwing her into the governor's arms. And the distant roar of the stock-taking, the millions of goods called out on all sides, thrown about in every direction, were like a warm wind, carrying the breath of passion straight towards her. There was a silence. Now and again, Mouret's voice was drowned by the noise which accompanied him, with the formidable uproar of a kingly fortune gained in battle. “When will you come, then?” asked he again. “Tomorrow?”