Meanwhile, Henriette had sat down again; and while listening to De Vallagnosc, who was announcing that Madame de Boves would probably pay her a visit, she did not take her eyes off Mouret. The latter, silent again, gazed at the furniture, seemed to be looking for something on the ceiling. Then as she laughingly complained that she had only gentlemen at her four o'clock tea, he so far forgot himself as to blurt out: “I expected to find Baron Hartmann here.” Henriette turned pale. No doubt she knew he came to her house solely to meet the baron; but he might have avoided throwing his indifference in her face like this. At that moment the door had opened and the footman was standing behind her. When she had interrogated him by a sign, he leant over her and said in a very low tone: “It's for that mantle. You wished me to let you know. The young lady is there.” Then Henriette raised her voice, so as to be heard. All her jealous suffering found relief in the following words, of a scornful harshness: “She can wait!” “Shall I show her into your dressing-room?” “No, no. Let her stay in the ante-room!” And when the servant had gone out she quietly resumed her conversation with De Vallagnosc. Mouret, who had relapsed into his former lassitude, had listened with a careless, distracted air, without understanding. Bouthemont, preoccupied by the adventure, was reflecting. But almost immediately after the door was opened again, and two ladies were shown in. “Just fancy,” said Madame Marty, “I was alighting at the door, when I saw Madame de Boves coming under the arcade.” “Yes,” explained the latter, “it's a fine day, and my doctor says I must take walking exercise.” Then, after a general hand-shaking, she asked Henriette: “You're engaging a new maid, then?” “No,” replied the other, astonished. “Why?” “Because I've just seen a young girl in the ante-room.” Henriette interrupted her, laughing. “It's true; all these shop-girls look like ladies' maids, don't they? Yes, it's a young person come to alter a mantle.” Mouret looked at her intently, a suspicion crossing his mind. She went on with a forced gaiety, explaining that she had bought mantle at The Ladies' Paradise the previous week. “What!” asked Madame Marty, “have you deserted Sauveur then?” “No my dear, but I wished to make an experiment. Besides, I was pretty well satisfied with a first purchase, a travelling cloak. But this time it has not succeeded at all. You may say what you like, one is horribly trussed up in the big shops. I speak out plainly, even before you, Monsieur Mouret; you will never know how to dress a woman with the slightest claim to distinction.” Mouret did not defend his house, still keeping his eyes on her, thinking to himself that she would never have dared to do such a thing. And it was Bouthemont who had to plead the cause of The Ladies' Paradise.