The petite-maîtresse tripped lightly down the stairs leading to the garden, and Madame Destival went to her bedroom, where she threw herself on a lounge, saying to Julie as she came in: "Oh! Julie! I am so annoyed! I cannot stand any more, I am choking!" "I should think as much, madame; I don't see how you can help it! To wait in vain for those whom you expect, and have to receive a lot of people that you don't expect!" "Monsieur Destival is perfectly brutal, with his mania for inviting everybody he sees. If he had a château, he would not do any more!" "That old Monin, who can't do anything but eat and drink!" "And yet, if he were the only one, I shouldn't mind him, I promise you." "Is his wife coming?" "No, thank God! she is making pickles." "That's very lucky! Madame Monin has a wicked tongue in her head; and inquisitive--why, she always comes into the kitchen to see what's going on." "In spite of that, I should have preferred her to those Thomassinières, who put on so much style and assume the most unendurable airs and pretensions!" "And then, who ever heard of bringing three servants to be fed! Those big rascals will eat everything in the house." "What time is it, Julie?" "After twelve, madame." "He won't come. I am very glad of it now. Order luncheon. We will not dine until half past six." "That's right; in that way they won't get any supper, at all events." Julie went downstairs. Madame stood in front of her mirror, looked at herself a few moments, arranged a few locks of hair, then left the room, saying to herself: "I look well enough for these people." She went to the garden and joined Madame de la Thomassinière, whose husband, immediately on arriving, had asked Monsieur Destival for a pen and some ink, so that he might at once write an urgent letter on a matter of great importance. Monsieur Destival ensconced the speculator in his study. "Make yourself perfectly at home," he said; "I will leave you." And Monsieur de la Thomassinière, left to himself at the desk, scratched his head, looked at the pens, and wrote nothing at all, for the reason that he had nothing to write and no letter to send. But a man involved in great speculations should always seem preoccupied, and pretend that he needs a writing desk; that impresses fools and credulous folk, and sometimes people of good sense even; the professional schemers are the only ones who do not allow themselves to be gulled by such petty wiles, because they often use them themselves. On leaving La Thomassinière, Monsieur Destival returned to Monsieur Monin, who did not take offence because no attention was paid to him, his wife having accustomed him to that. "Well, neighbor, have you sold that drug shop?" queried the business agent, slapping Monsieur Monin on the shoulder. "Not yet, neighbor. It vexes me, because, I'll tell you, those who have taken my place temporarily aren't used to it as I am, and----"