The Ladies' Paradise

However, the laughter all at once ceased, and the work resumed its regular roar. Mouret was once more going through the departments. But he stopped and looked round for Denise, surprised at not seeing her there. Then he made a sign to Madame Aurélie; and both drew aside, and for a moment talked in a low tone. He must have been questioning her. She nodded towards the pattern-room and then seemed to be making a report. No doubt she was relating that the young girl had been weeping that morning.

"Very good!" said Mouret, aloud, coming nearer. "Show me the lists."

"This way, sir," said the first-hand. "We have run away from the noise."

He followed her into the next room. Clara was not duped by this manœuvre, but Marguerite threw her the garments at a quicker rate, in order to take up her attention and close her mouth. Wasn't the second-hand a good comrade? Her affairs did not concern them. The whole department was now aiding and abetting the intrigue, the young ladies grew more agitated than ever, Lhomme and Joseph affected not to see or hear anything. And inspector Jouve, who, in passing by, had remarked Madame Aurélie's tactics, began walking up and down before the pattern-room door, with the regular step of a sentry guarding the will and pleasure of a superior.

"Give Monsieur Mouret the lists," said the first-hand.

Denise handed them over, and sat there with her eyes raised. She had started slightly, but had promptly conquered herself, and retained a fine calm look, although her cheeks were pale. For a moment, Mouret appeared to be absorbed in the lists of articles, never giving the girl a glance. A silence reigned, then Madame Aurélie all at once stepped up to Mademoiselle de Fontenailles, who had not even turned her head, and, apparently dissatisfied with her counting, said to her in an undertone:

"Go and help with the parcels. You are not used to figures."

Mademoiselle de Fontenailles got up, and returned to the department, where she was greeted with whispering. Joseph, under the laughing eyes of these young minxes, was writing anyhow. Clara though delighted to have an assistant nevertheless treated her very roughly, hating her as she hated all the women in the shop. What an idiotic thing to yield to the love of a workman, when you were a marchioness! And yet she envied the poor creature this love.

"Very good!" repeated Mouret, still pretending to read.

However, Madame Aurélie hardly knew how to get away in her turn in a decent fashion. She turned about, went to look at the machine knives, furious with her husband for not inventing a pretext for calling her. But then he was never of any use in serious matters, he would have died of thirst close to a pond. It was Marguerite who proved intelligent enough to go and ask the first-hand a question.

"I'm coming," replied the latter.

And her dignity now being saved, having a pretext to join the young ladies who were watching her, she at last left Denise and Mouret alone together, coming out of the pattern-room with a majestic step and so noble an air, that the saleswomen did not even dare to smile.

Mouret had slowly laid the lists on the table, and stood looking at Denise, who had remained seated, pen in hand. She did not avert her gaze, but she had merely turned paler.

"You will come this evening?" asked he.

"No, sir, I cannot. My brothers are to be at my uncle's to-night, and I have promised to dine with them."

"But your foot! You walk with such difficulty."

"Oh, I can get so far very well. I feel much better since the morning."

In his turn he had turned pale on hearing this quiet refusal. A nervous revolt made his lips quiver. However, he restrained himself, and with the air of a good-natured master simply interesting himself in one of his young ladies resumed: "Come now, if I begged of you – You know what great esteem I have for you."

Denise retained her respectful attitude. "I am deeply touched, sir, by your kindness to me, and thank you for this invitation. But I repeat, I cannot; my brothers expect me this evening."

She persisted in not understanding. The door remained open, and she felt that the whole shop was urging her on to ruin. Pauline had amicably called her a great simpleton; the others would laugh at her if she refused the invitation; Madame Aurélie, who had gone away, Marguerite, whose rising voice she could hear, Lhomme, whom she could espy, sitting motionless and discreet, all these people were wishing for her fall. And the distant roar of the stock-taking, the millions of goods enumerated on all sides and thrown about in every direction, were like a warm breeze wafting the breath of passion towards her. There was a silence. Now and again, Mouret's voice was drowned by the noisy accompaniment, the formidable uproar of a kingly fortune gained in battle.

"When will you come, then?" he asked again. "To-morrow?"

This simple question troubled Denise. She lost her calmness for a moment, and stammered: "I don't know – I can't – "

He smiled, and tried to take her hand, which she withheld. "What are you afraid of?" he asked.

But she quickly raised her head, looked him straight in the face, and smiling, with her sweet, brave look replied: "I am afraid of nothing, sir. I can do as I like, can I not? I don't wish to, that's all!"

As she finished speaking, she was surprised to hear a creaking noise, and on turning round saw the door slowly closing. It was inspector Jouve, who had taken upon himself to pull it to. The doors were a part of his duty, none ought ever to remain open. And he gravely resumed his position as sentinel. No one appeared to have noticed that this door was being closed in such a simple manner. Clara alone risked a strong remark in the ear of Mademoiselle de Fontenailles, but the latter's face remained expressionless.

Denise, however, had risen. Mouret was saying to her in a low and trembling voice: "Listen, Denise, I love you. You have long known it, pray don't be so cruel as to play the ignorant. I love you, Denise!" She was standing there very pale, listening to him and still looking straight into his face. "Tell me," he went on. "Why do you refuse? Have you no wants? Your brothers are a heavy burden. Anything you might ask of me, anything you might require of me – "

But with a word, she stopped him: "Thanks, I now earn more than I need."

"But it's perfect liberty that I am offering you, an existence of pleasure and luxury. I will set you up in a home of your own. I will assure you a little fortune."

"No, thanks; I should soon get tired of doing nothing. I earned my own living before I was ten years old."

He made a wild gesture. This was the first one who did not yield. With the others he had merely had to stoop. His passion, long restrained, goaded on by resistance, became stronger than ever, and he pressed her more and more urgently.

But without faltering she each time replied "No – no."

Then at last he let this heart-cry escape him: "But don't you see that I am suffering! Yes, it's stupid, but I am suffering like a child!"

Tears came into his eyes. A fresh silence reigned. They could still hear the softened roar of the stock-taking behind the closed door. It was like a dying note of triumph, the accompaniment subsided into a lower key in presence of this defeat of the master.

"And yet if I liked – " he said in an ardent voice, seizing her hands.

She left them in his, her eyes turned pale, her whole strength was deserting her. A warmth came from this man's burning grasp, filling her with a delicious cowardice. Good heavens! how she loved him, and with what delight she could have hung on his neck and remained there!

But in his passionate excitement he grew brutal. She set up a low cry; the pain she felt at her wrists restored her courage. With an angry shake she freed herself. Then, very stiff, looking taller in her weakness: "No, leave me alone! I am not a Clara, to be thrown over in a day. Besides, you love another; yes, that lady who comes here. I do not accept half an affection!"

He remained motionless with surprise. What was she saying, and what did she want? The other girls had never asked to be loved. He ought to have laughed at such an idea; yet this attitude of tender pride completely conquered his heart.

"Now, sir, please open the door," she resumed. "It is not proper that we should be shut up together in this way."

He obeyed; and with his temples throbbing, hardly knowing how to conceal his anguish, he recalled Madame Aurélie, and broke out angrily about the stock of cloaks, saying that the prices must be lowered, until every one had been got rid of. Such was the rule of the house – a clean sweep was made every year, they sold at sixty per cent. loss rather than keep an old pattern or any stale material. At that moment, Bourdoncle, seeking Mouret, was waiting for him outside, having been stopped before the closed door by Jouve, who had whispered a word in his ear with a grave air. He got very impatient, without however, summoning up sufficient courage to interrupt the governor's tête-à-tête. Was it possible? on such a day too, and with that creature! And when Mouret at last came out Bourdoncle spoke to him about the fancy silks, of which the stock left on hand would be something enormous This was a relief for Mouret, as it gave him an opportunity for shouting. What the devil was Bouthemont thinking about? He went off declaring that he could not allow a buyer to display such lack of sense as to buy beyond the requirements of the business.

"What is the matter with him?" murmured Madame Aurélie, quite overcome by his reproaches; while the young ladies looked at each other in surprise.

At six o'clock the stock-taking was finished. The sun was still shining – a fair summer sun, whose golden reflections streamed through the glazed roofs of the halls. In the heavy air of the streets, tired families were already returning from the suburbs laden with bouquets and dragging their children along. One by one, the departments had become silent. In the depths of the galleries you now only heard the lingering calls of a few men clearing a last shelf. Then even these voices ceased, and of all the bustle of the day there only remained a quivering vibration, above the formidable piles of goods. The shelves, cupboards, boxes, and band-boxes, were now empty: not a yard of stuff, not an object of any sort had remained in its place. The vast establishment displayed but the carcase of its usual appearance, the woodwork was absolutely bare, as on the day of taking possession. This bareness was the visible proof of the complete, exact taking of the stock. And on the floor was sixteen million francs' worth of goods, a rising sea, which had finished by submerging the tables and counters. However, the shopmen, surrounded to the shoulders, began to put each article back into its place. They expected to finish by about ten o'clock.

When Madame Aurélie, who went to the first dinner, came back from the dining-room, she announced the amount of business done during the year, which the totals of the various departments had just enabled one to arrive at. The figure was eighty million francs, ten millions more than the previous year. The only real decrease had been on the fancy silks.

"If Monsieur Mouret is not satisfied, I should like to know what more he wants," added the first-hand. "See! he's fuming over there, at the top of the grand staircase."

The young ladies went to look at him. He was standing alone, with a sombre countenance, above the millions scattered at his feet.

"Madame," said Denise, at this moment, "would you kindly let me go away now? I can't do anything more on account of my foot, and as I am to dine at my uncle's with my brothers – "

They were all astonished. She had not yielded, then! Madame Aurélie hesitated, and speaking in a sharp and disagreeable voice, seemed inclined to forbid her going out; whilst Clara shrugged her shoulders, full of incredulity. When Pauline learnt the news, she was in the baby-linen department with Deloche, and the sudden joy exhibited by the young man made her very angry. As for Bourdoncle, who did not dare to approach Mouret in his savage isolation, he marched up and down amidst these rumours, in despair also, and full of anxiety. However, Denise went down. As she slowly reached the bottom of the left-hand staircase, leaning on the banister, she came upon a group of grinning salesmen. Her name was pronounced, and she realized that they were talking about her adventure. They had not noticed her descent.

"Oh! all that's put on, you know," Favier was saying. "She's full of vice! Yes, I know some one whom she set her eyes on."

And thereupon he glanced at Hutin, who, in order to preserve his dignity as second-hand, was standing a short distance away without joining in their conversation. However, he was so flattered by the envious air with which the others contemplated him, that he deigned to murmur: "She was a regular nuisance to me, was that girl!"

Denise, wounded to the heart, clung to the banister. They must have seen her, for they all disappeared, laughing. He was right, she thought, and she reproached herself for her former ignorance, when she had been wont to think of him. But what a coward he was, and how she scorned him now! A great trouble had come upon her; was it not strange that she should have found the strength just now to repulse a man whom she adored, when she had felt herself so feeble in bygone days before that worthless fellow, whom she had only dreamed of? Her sense of reason and her bravery foundered in these contradictions of her being, which she could not clearly read. Then she hastened to cross the hall but a sort of instinct prompted her to raise her head, whilst an inspector was opening the door, closed since the morning. And still at the top of the stairs, on the great central landing dominating the gallery, she perceived Mouret. He had quite forgotten the stock-taking, he no longer beheld his empire, that building bursting with riches. Everything had disappeared, his former uproarious victories, his future colossal fortune. With a desponding look he was watching Denise and when she had crossed the threshold everything disappeared, a darkness came over the house.

CHAPTER XI