At last the first-hand came and took the mantle off Denise's shoulders, saying to her in a low tone: “Well! mademoiselle, here's a fine start. Really, if this is the way you show off your capabilities----Impossible to be more stupid!” Denise, fearing the tears might gush from her, hastened back to the heap of garments, which she began to sort out on the counter. There at least she was lost in the crowd. Fatigue prevented her thinking. But she suddenly felt Pauline near her, a saleswoman in the under-clothing department, who had already defended her that morning. The latter had followed the scene, and murmured in Denise's ear: “My poor child, don't be so sensitive. Keep that to yourself, or they'll go on worse and worse. I come from Chartres. Yes, exactly, Pauline Cugnot is my name; and my parents are millers. Well! they would have devoured me the first few days if I had not stood up firm. Come, be brave! give me your hand, we'll have a talk together whenever you like.” This hand held out redoubled Denise's confusion; she shook it furtively, hastening to take up a load of cloaks, fearing to be doing wrong and to get a scolding if they knew she had a friend. However, Madame Aurélie herself, had just put the mantle on Madame Marty, and they all exclaimed: “Oh! how nice! delightful!” It at once looked quite different. Madame Desforges decided it would be impossible to improve on it. There was a good deal of bowing. Mouret took his leave, whilst Vallognosc, who had perceived Madame de Boves and her daughter in the lace department, hastened to offer his arm to the mother. Marguerite, standing before one of the pay-desks, was already calling out the different purchases made by Madame Marty, who settled for them and ordered the parcel to be taken to her cab. Madame Desforges had found her articles at pay-desk No. 10. Then the ladies met once more in the oriental saloon. They were leaving, but it was amidst a loquacious feeling of admiration. Even Madame Guibal became enthusiastic. “Oh! delicious! makes you think you are in the East; doesn't it?” “A real harem, and not at all dear!” “And the Smyrnas! oh, the Smyrnas! what tones, what delicacy!” “And this Kurdestan! Just look, a Delacroix!”