“Come,” he ventured to say at last, “what does that matter to you? I swear to you there is nothing whatever between them.” “Just so,” cried she, “because he loves her! I don't care in the least for the others, chance acquaintances, friends of a day!” She spoke of Clara with disdain. She was well aware that Mouret, after Denise's refusal, had fallen back on this tall, redhaired girl, with the horse's head, doubtless by calculation; for he maintained her in the department, loading her with presents. Not only that, for the last three months he had been leading: a terrible life, squandering his money with a prodigality which caused a great many remarks; he had bought a mansion for a worthless actress, and was being ruined by two or three other jades, who seemed to be struggling to outdo each other in costly, stupid caprices. “It's this creature's fault,” repeated Henriette. “I feel sure he's ruining himself with the others because she repulses him. Besides, what's his money to me? I should have loved him better poor. You know how I love him, you who have become our friend.” She stopped, choked, ready to burst into tears; and with a movement of abandon she held out her two hands to him. It was true, she adored Mouret for his youth and his triumphs, never had any man thus conquered her so entirely in a quiver of her flesh and of her pride; but at the thought of losing him, she also heard the knell of her fortieth year, and she asked herself with terror how she should replace this great love. “I'll have my revenge,” murmured she. “I'll have my revenge, if he behaves badly!” Bouthemont continued to hold her hands in his. She was still handsome. But she would be a very awkward mistress, thought he, and he did not like that style of woman. The thing, however, deserved thinking over; perhaps it would be worth while risking certain annoyances. “Why don't you set up for yourself?” she asked all at once, drawing her hands away. He was astonished. Then he replied: “But it would require an immense sum. Last year I had an idea in my head. I feel convinced that there are customers enough in Paris for one or two more big shops; but the district would have to be chosen. The Bon Marche has the left side of the river; the Louvre occupies the centre; we monopolise, at The Paradise, the rich west-end district. There remains the north, where a rival to the Place Clichy could be created. And I had discovered a splendid position, near the Opera House----” “Well?” He set up a noisy laugh. “Just fancy. I was stupid enough to go and talk to my father about it Yes, I was simple enough to ask him to find some shareholders at Toulouse.”