She went out, and her black silk dress, rustling against the door, produced a noise like that of a snake wriggling through the brushwood. The baron at once manoeuvred to carry Mouret off, leaving the ladies to Bouthemont and De Vallagnosc. Then they stood talking before the window of the other room in a low tone. It was quite a fresh affair. For a long time Mouret had cherished a desire to realise his former project, the invasion of the whole block by The Ladies' Paradise, from the Rue Monsigny to the Rue de la Michodière and from the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin to the Rue du Dix-Décembre. There was still a vast piece of ground, in the latter street, remaining to be acquired, and that sufficed to spoil his triumph, he was tortured with the desire to complete his conquest, to erect there a sort of apotheosis, a monumental façade. As long as his principal entrance should remain in the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, in a dark street of old Paris, his work would be incomplete, wanting in logic. He wished to set it up before new Paris, in one of these modern avenues through which passed the busy crowd of the latter part of the nineteenth century. He saw it dominating, imposing itself as the giant palace of commerce, casting a greater shadow over the city than the old Louvre itself. But up to the present he had been baulked by the obstinacy of die Crédit Immobilier, which still held to its first idea of building a rival to the Grand Hôtel on this land. The plans were ready, they were only waiting for the clearing of the Rue du Dix-Décembre to commence the work. At last, by a supreme effort, Mouret had almost convinced Baron Hartmann. “Well!” commenced the latter, “we had a board-meeting yesterday, and I came to-day, thinking I should meet you, and being desirous of keeping you informed. They still resist.” The young man gave way to a nervous gesture. “But it's ridiculous. What do they say?” “Dear me! they say what I have said to you myself, and what I am still inclined to think. Your façade is only an ornament, the new buildings would only extend by about a tenth the surface of your establishment, and it would be throwing away immense sums on a mere advertisement.” At this Mouret burst out “An advertisement! an advertisement! In any case this will be in stone and outlive all of us. Just consider that it would increase our business tenfold! We should see our money back in two years. What matters about what you call the wasted ground, if this ground returns you an enormous interest! You will see the crowd, when our customers are no longer obliged to struggle through the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, but can freely pass down a thoroughfare large enough for six carriages abreast.” “No doubt,” replied the baron, laughing. “But you are a poet in your way, let me tell you once more. These gentlemen think it would be dangerous to further extend your business.' They want to be prudent for you.”