Monsieur de Boves, who had doubtless observed the heartbroken, longing looks with which his wife was following the fan, at last added his word to the conversation. “These flimsy things don't last long, they soon break,” said he. “Of course they do!” declared Madame Guibal, with an air of indifference. “I'm tired of having mine mended.” For several minutes, Madame Marty, excited by the conversation, was feverishly turning her red leather bag about on her lap, for she had not yet been able to show her purchases. She was burning to display them, with a sort of sensual desire; and, suddenly forgetting her husband's presence, she took out a few yards of narrow lace wound on a piece of cardboard. “It's the Valenciennes for my daughter,” said she. “It's an inch and a half wide. Isn't it delicious? One franc eighteen sous.” The lace was passed from hand to hand. The ladies were astonished. Mouret assured them he sold these little trimmings at cost price. However, Madame Marty had closed the bag, as if to conceal certain things she could not show. But after the success obtained by the Valenciennes she was unable to resist the temptation of taking out a handkerchief. “There was this handkerchief as well. Real Brussels, my dear. Oh! a bargain! Twenty francs!” And after that the bag became inexhaustible, she blushed with pleasure, a modesty like that of a woman undressing herself made her appear more charming and embarrassed at each fresh article she took out. There was a Spanish blonde-lace cravat, thirty francs: she didn't want it, but the shopman had sworn it was the last, and that in future the price would be raised. Next came a Chantilly veil: rather dear, fifty francs; if she didn't wear it she could make it do for her daughter. “Really, lace is so pretty!” repeated she with her nervous laugh. “Once I'm inside I could buy everything.” “And this?” asked Madame de Boves, taking up and examining a remnant of Maltese lace. “That,” replied she, “is for an insertion. There are twenty-six yards--a franc the yard. Just fancy!” “But,” said Madame Bourdelais, surprised, “what are you going to do with it?” “I'm sure I don't know. But it was such a funny pattern!”