The Ladies' Paradise

The poor fellow shrugged his shoulders, and did not even reply. It wasn't his fault if he was dying of hunger. Besides, the others might abuse the food as much as they liked, they swallowed it all the same.

But a low whistle stopped their talk; Mouret and Bourdoncle were in the corridor. For some time the complaints had become so frequent that the principals pretended to come and judge the quality of the food themselves. They gave thirty sous a head per day to the chief cook, who had to pay for everything, provisions, coal, gas, and staff, and they displayed a naive astonishment when the food was not good. That very morning even, each department had deputed a spokesman. Mignot and Liénard had undertaken to speak for their comrades. And so, in the sudden silence which fell, all ears were cocked to catch the conversation going on in the next room, which Mouret and Bourdoncle had just entered. The latter declared the beef excellent; and Mignot, astounded by this quiet assertion, was repeating, "But chew it, and see;" whilst Liénard, attacking the skate, gently remarked, "But it stinks, sir!" Mouret thereupon launched into a cordial speech; he would do everything for his employees' welfare, he was their father, and would rather eat dry bread himself than see them badly fed.

"I promise you to look into the matter," he said in conclusion, raising his voice so that they might all hear it from one end of the passage to the other.

The inquiry being finished, the noise of the knives and forks commenced once more. "Yes, reckon on that, and drink water!" Hutin muttered. "Ah, they're not stingy of fine words. You want some promises, there you are! But all the while they continue feeding you on old boot-leather, and chuck you out like dogs!"

The salesman who had already questioned him thereupon repeated: "You say that Robineau – "

But a clatter of heavy crockery-ware drowned his voice. The men changed their plates themselves, and the piles at both ends were diminishing. When a kitchen-help brought in some large tin dishes, Hutin cried out: "Baked rice! this is a finisher!"

"Good for a penn'orth of gum!" said Favier, serving himself.

Some liked it but others thought it too sticky. Those who were plunged in the fiction of their newspaper, not even knowing what they were eating, remained silent. All, however, mopped their foreheads, and the narrow cellar-like apartment filled with a ruddy vapour whilst the shadows of the passers-by continually passed like black bars over the littered tables.

"Pass Deloche the bread," cried one of the wags.

Each one cut a piece, and then again dug the knife into the loaf up to the handle; and the bread still went round.

"Who'll take my rice for a dessert?" all at once asked Hutin; and when he had concluded his bargain with a short, thin young fellow, he attempted to sell his wine also; but no one would take it as it was known to be detestable.

"As I was telling you, Robineau is back," he continued, amid the cross-fire of laughter and conversation that went on. "Oh! his affair is serious. Just fancy, he has been leading the saleswomen astray! Yes, and he gets them cravats to make!"

"Silence!" muttered Favier. "They're just judging him."

And with a wink he called attention to Bouthemont, who was walking up and down the passage between Mouret and Bourdoncle, all three absorbed in an animated conversation, carried on in a low tone. The dining-room of the managers and second-hands happened to be just opposite. And so on seeing Mouret pass, Bouthemont, having finished his meal, had got up to relate the affair and explain the awkward position he was in. The other two listened, still refusing to sacrifice Robineau, a first-class salesman, who dated from Madame Hédouin's time. But when Bouthemont came to the story of the neckties, Bourdoncle got angry. Was this fellow mad to interfere with the saleswomen and procure them extra work? The house paid dearly enough for the women's time; if they worked on their own account at night they must work less during the daytime in the shop, that was certain; therefore it was a robbery, they were risking their health which did not belong to them. No, the night was intended for sleep; they must all sleep, or they would be sent to the right-about!

"Things are getting rather warm!" remarked Hutin.

Each time the three principals passed the dining-room, the shopmen watched them, commenting on their slightest gestures. The baked rice, in which a cashier had just found a brace-button, was momentarily forgotten.

"I just heard the word 'cravat,'" said Favier. "And you saw how Bourdoncle's face turned pale all at once."

Mouret shared his partner's indignation. That a saleswoman should be reduced to work at night, seemed to him an attack on the very organization of The Ladies' Paradise. Who was the stupid that couldn't earn enough in the business? But when Bouthemont named Denise he softened down, and invented excuses. Ah! yes, that poor little girl; she wasn't very sharp, and had others dependent on her, it was said. Bourdoncle interrupted him to declare they ought to send her packing immediately. They would never do anything with such an ugly creature, he had always said so; and he seemed to be indulging a spiteful feeling. Thereupon Mouret, in embarrassment, affected to laugh. Dear me! what a severe man! couldn't they forgive her for once? They could call in the culprit and give her a scolding. In short, Robineau was the one to blame, for he ought to have dissuaded her, he, an old hand, knowing the ways of the house.

"Well! there's the governor laughing now!" resumed Favier, in astonishment, as the group again passed the door.

"Ah, by Jove!" exclaimed Hutin, "if they persist in shoving Robineau on our shoulders, we'll make it lively for them!"

Bourdoncle looked straight at Mouret and then simply made a gesture of disdain, to intimate that he saw how it was, and thought it idiotic. Bouthemont meantime resumed his complaints; the salesmen threatened to leave, and there were some very good men amongst them. However, what appeared to have most effect on these gentlemen, was the rumour of Robineau's friendly relations with Gaujean; the latter, it was said, was urging the former to set up for himself in the neighbourhood, offering him any amount of credit, to run in opposition to The Ladies' Paradise. There was a pause. Ah! Robineau thought of showing fight, did he! Mouret had become serious, though he affected a certain scorn, and avoided coming to a decision, as if it were matter of no importance. They would see, they would speak to him. And he immediately began to joke with Bouthemont, whose father, arriving from his little shop at Montpellier two days previously, had almost choked with stupefaction and rage on seeing the immense hall in which his son reigned. Everyone was still laughing about the old man, who, recovering his Southern assurance, had immediately begun to run everything down, pretending that the drapery business would soon go to the dogs.

"Ah! precisely, here's Robineau," said Bouthemont. "I sent him to attend to some matching so as to avoid any unpleasant occurrence. Excuse me if I insist, but things have come to such a pass that something must really be done."

Robineau, who had just come in, passed by the group with a bow, on his way to the table. Mouret simply repeated: "All right, we'll see about it."

Then all three went off. Hutin and Favier were still watching for them, but on seeing that they did not return began to relieve their feelings. Did the governor mean to come down like that at every meal, to count their mouthfuls? A nice thing it would be if they could not even eat in peace! The truth was, they had just seen Robineau come in, and the governor's good-humour made them anxious about the result of the struggle they were engaged in. They lowered their voices, trying to find fresh subjects for grumbling.

"But I'm dying of hunger!" continued Hutin, aloud. "One is hungrier than ever on rising from table!" And yet he had eaten two portions of jam, his own and the one which he had secured in exchange for his plate of rice. All at once he cried out: "Hang it, I'm going in for an extra! Victor, give me another jam!"

The waiter was finishing the serving of the desserts. He then brought in the coffee, and those who took it gave him their three sous there and then. A few had gone away, dawdling along the corridor and looking for a dark corner where they might smoke a cigarette. The others remained at table before the greasy plates, rolling pellets of bread-crumbs and recounting the same old stories, amidst the sickly odour of victuals, which they could no longer smell, and the sweltering heat which was reddening their ears. The walls reeked with moisture, a slow asphyxia fell from the mouldy vaulted ceiling. Leaning against the wall was Deloche, stuffed with bread and digesting in silence, his eyes on the window. His daily recreation, after luncheon was to watch the feet of the passers-by spinning along the street, a continual procession of living feet in big shoes, elegant boots, and ladies' tiny boots, without either head or body. On rainy days all were very dirty.

"What! Already?" suddenly exclaimed Hutin.

A bell had begun to ring at the end of the passage and they had to make way for the third lunch. The waiters came in with pails of warm water and big sponges to clean the American cloth. Gradually the rooms emptied and the salesmen returned to their departments, loitering as they went up the stairs. In the kitchen, the head cook had resumed his place at the wicket, between the pans of skate, beef, and sauce, again armed with his forks and spoons and ready to fill the plates anew with the rhythmical movement of a well-regulated clock. As Hutin and Favier slowly withdrew, they saw Denise coming down.

"Monsieur Robineau is back, mademoiselle," said the former with sneering politeness.

"He is still at table," added the other. "But if you are in a very great hurry you can go in."

Denise continued on her way without replying or turning round; but when she passed the dining-room of the managers and second-hands, she could not help just looking in, and saw that Robineau was really there. She resolved that she would try to speak to him in the afternoon, and continued her journey along the corridor to her own dining-room, which was at the other end.

The women took their meals apart, in two special rooms. Denise entered the first one. This also was an old cellar, transformed into a refectory; but it had been fitted up with more comfort. On the oval table, in the middle of the apartment, the fifteen places were set further apart and the wine was in decanters, a dish of skate and a dish of beef with pungent sauce occupying the two ends of the table. Waiters in white aprons moreover attended to the young ladies, and spared them the trouble of fetching their portions from the wicket. The manager had thought this arrangement more seemly.

"You went round, then?" asked Pauline, already seated and cutting herself some bread.

"Yes," replied Denise, blushing, "I was accompanying a customer."

But this was a fib. Clara nudged her neighbour. What was the matter with the unkempt girl? She was quite strange in her ways that day. One after the other she had received two letters from her lover and then went running all over the shop like a madwoman, pretending she was going to the work-room, where she did not even put in an appearance. There was something up, that was certain. Then Clara, eating her skate without any show of disgust, with the indifference of a girl who had been used to nothing better than rancid bacon, began speaking of a frightful drama, accounts of which filled the newspapers.

"You've read about that man cutting his mistress's throat with a razor, haven't you?"

"Well!" said a little, quiet, delicate-looking girl belonging to the under-linen department, "she was unfaithful to him. Serve her right!"

But Pauline protested. What! just because you had ceased to love a man, he was to be allowed to cut your throat? Ah! no, never! And stopping all at once, she turned round to the waiter, saying: "Pierre, I can't get through this beef. Just tell them to do me an extra, an omelet, nice and soft, if possible."

Then to while away the time, she took out some chocolate which she began eating with her bread, for she always had her pockets full of sweetmeats.

"It certainly isn't very amusing," resumed Clara. "And some people are fearfully jealous, you know! Only the other day there was a workman who pitched his wife into a well."

She kept her eyes on Denise, thinking she had guessed her trouble on seeing her turn pale. Evidently that little prude was afraid of being beaten by her lover, whom she no doubt deceived. It would be a lark if he should come into the shop after her, as she seemed to fear he would. But the conversation took another turn, for one of the girls was giving a recipe for cleaning velvet. Then they went on to speak of a piece at the Gaiety, in which some lovely little children danced better than any grown-up persons. Pauline, saddened for a moment at the sight of her omelet, which was overdone, recovered her spirits on finding that it tasted fairly well.

"Pass the wine," said she to Denise. "You should take an omelet."

"Oh! the beef is enough for me," replied the young girl, who, in order to avoid expense, contented herself with the food provided by the house, no matter how repugnant it might be.

When the waiter brought in the baked rice, the other young ladies protested. They had refused it the previous week, and had hoped it would not appear again. Denise, inattentive, worrying the more about Jean after Clara's stories, was the only one to eat it; and all the others looked at her with disgust. There was a great demand for extras, they gorged themselves with jam. Moreover this was a sort of elegance, they considered it aristocratic to feed themselves at their own expense.

"You know that the gentlemen have complained," said the delicate little girl from the under-linen department, "and the management has promised – "

But the others interrupted her with a burst of laughter, and began to rail at the management. Coffee was taken by all excepting Denise, who couldn't bear it, she said. And they lingered there before their cups, the young ladies from the under-linen department all middle-class simplicity in their woollen dresses, and the young ladies from the mantle department arrayed in silk, their napkins tucked under their chins, in order not to stain their gowns, like ladies who might have come down to the servants' hall to dine with their chamber-maids. Having opened the glazed sash of the air-hole to change the stifling poisoned air, they were speedily obliged to close it for the cab-wheels seemed to be passing over the table.

"Hush!" whispered Pauline; "here's that old beast!"

It was inspector Jouve, who was rather fond of prowling about at meal times, when the young ladies were there. He was supposed, in fact, to look after their dining-rooms. With a smiling face he would come in and walk round the tables; sometimes he would even indulge in a little gossip, and inquire if they had made a good lunch. But as he annoyed them and made them feel uncomfortable, they all hastened to get away. Although the bell had not rung, Clara was the first to disappear; the others followed her, and soon only Denise and Pauline remained. The latter, after drinking her coffee, was finishing her chocolate drops. But all at once she got up, saying: "I'm going to send a messenger for some oranges. Are you coming?"

"Presently," replied Denise, who was nibbling at a crust, determined to wait till the last, so that she might be able to see Robineau on her way upstairs.

However, when she found herself alone with Jouve she felt uneasy and annoyed, and quitted the table; but as she was going towards the door he stopped her saying: "Mademoiselle Baudu – "

Erect before her, he was smiling with a paternal air. His thick grey moustache and short cropped hair gave him a respectable military appearance; and he threw out his chest, on which was displayed the red ribbon of his decoration.

"What is it, Monsieur Jouve?" asked she, feeling reassured.

"I caught you again this morning talking upstairs behind the carpet department. You know it is not allowed, and if I reported you – She must be very fond of you, your friend Pauline." His moustache quivered, and his huge nose seemed all aflame. "What makes you so fond of each other, eh?"

Denise had again been seized with an uneasy feeling. He was getting too close, and was speaking in her face.

"It's true we were talking, Monsieur Jouve," she stammered, "but there's no harm in talking a bit. You are very kind to me, and I'm very much obliged to you."

"I ought not to be kind," said he. "Justice, and nothing more, is my motto. But when it's a pretty girl – "

And thereupon he came closer still, and she felt really afraid. Pauline's words returned to her memory and she recalled the stories which were told of old Jouve's goings-on.

"Leave me alone," she murmured drawing back.

"Come," said he, "you are not going to play the savage with me, who always treat you so well. Be amiable, come and take a cup of tea and a slice of bread-and-butter with me this evening. You are very welcome."

She was struggling now. "No! no!" she exclaimed.

The dining-room remained empty, the waiter had not come back. Jouve, listening for the sound of any footsteps, cast a rapid glance around him; and then, very excited, losing all control over himself, he attempted to kiss her on the neck.

"What a spiteful, stupid little girl you are!" he said.

But she was quite shocked and terrified by the approach of his burning face, and all at once she gave him so rough a push that he staggered and nearly fell upon the table. Fortunately, a chair saved him; but in the shock, some wine left in a glass spurted on to his white necktie, and soaked his decoration. And he remained there, without wiping himself, choked with anger at such brutality.

"Ah, you will be sorry for this, on my word of honour!" he growled between his teeth.

Denise ran away. Just at that moment the bell rang; but sorely perturbed, still shuddering, she forgot Robineau, and went straight up to her counter. And she did not dare to go down again. As the sun fell on the frontage of the Place Gaillon of an afternoon, they were soon all stifling in the first-floor rooms, notwithstanding the grey linen blinds. A few customers came, put the young ladies into perspiration, and went away without buying anything. Every one was yawning even under Madame Aurélie's big sleepy eyes. At last towards three o'clock, Denise, seeing the first-hand falling asleep, quietly slipped off, and resumed her journey across the shop, with a busy air. To put the curious ones, who might be watching her, off the scent, she did not go straight to the silk department; pretending that she wanted something among the laces, she went up to Deloche, and asked him a question; and then, on reaching the ground-floor, she passed through the printed cottons department, and was just going into the cravat gallery, when she stopped short, startled and surprised. Jean was before her.

"What! it's you?" she murmured, quite pale.

He was wearing his working blouse, and was bare-headed, with his hair in disorder, its curls falling over his girlish face. Standing before a show-case of narrow black neckties, he appeared to be thinking deeply.

"What are you doing here?" resumed Denise.

"What do you think?" replied he. "I was waiting for you. You won't let me come. So I came in all the same but haven't said anything to anybody. You may be quite easy. Pretend not to know me, if you like."

Some salesmen were already looking at them in astonishment. Jean lowered his voice. "She wanted to come with me, you know. Yes, she is close by, opposite the fountain. Give me the fifteen francs quick, or we are done for as sure as the sun is shining on us!"

Denise then lost her head. The lookers-on were grinning, listening to this adventure. And as behind the cravat department there was a staircase leading to the basement, she hastily pushed her brother, and made him go down. Once below he resumed his story, embarrassed, inventing his facts as he went on, and fearing that he might not be believed.

"The money is not for her. She is too respectable for that. And as for her husband, he does not care a straw for fifteen francs. No, it's for a low fellow, one of her friends, who saw me kissing her, and if I don't give him this money this evening – "

"Be quiet," murmured Denise. "Presently, do get along."

They were now in the parcels office. The dead season had steeped the vast basement in a sort of torpor, in the pale light falling from the air-holes. It was cool as well, and a silence fell from the ceiling. However, there was a porter collecting from one of the compartments a few parcels for the neighbourhood of the Madeleine; and, on the large sorting-table, sat Campion, the chief clerk, his legs dangling, and his eyes wandering.

Jean began again: "The husband, who has a big knife – "

"Get along!" repeated Denise, still pushing him forward.

They followed one of the narrow passages, where the gas was always kept burning. In the dark vaults to the right and the left were the reserve goods, shadowy behind the gratings. At last she stopped opposite one of these. Nobody was likely to pass that way; but the assistants were not allowed there, and she shuddered.

"If this rascal says anything," resumed Jean, "the husband, who has a big knife – "

"But where do you expect me to find fifteen francs?" exclaimed Denise in despair. "Can't you be more careful? You're always getting into some stupid scrape!"

He struck his chest. Amidst all his romantic inventions he had almost forgotten the exact truth. He dramatized his pecuniary wants, but there was always some immediate necessity behind his display. "By all that's sacred, it's really true this time," said he.

She stopped him again, and lost her temper, tortured and completely at a loss. "I don't want to know," she replied. "Keep your wicked conduct to yourself. It's too bad, you ought to know better! You're always tormenting me. I'm killing myself to keep you in money. Yes, I have to stay up all night at work. Not only that, but you are taking the bread out of your little brother's mouth."

Jean stood there with his mouth agape, and his face paling. What! it was wicked? And he could not understand; from infancy he had always treated his sister like a comrade, and thought it quite a natural thing to open his heart to her. But what upset him above all else was to learn that she stopped up all night. The idea that he was killing her, and taking Pépé's share as well, affected him so much that he began to cry.

"You're right; I'm a scamp," he exclaimed. "Really now, I am quite furious with myself! I could slap my face!" He had taken her hands, and was kissing them and inundating them with tears. "Give me the fifteen francs, and this shall be the last time, I swear it to you. Or rather – no! – don't give me anything. I prefer to die. If the husband murders me it will be a good riddance for you." And as she was now crying as well, he became stricken with remorse. "I say that, but of course I'm not sure. Perhaps he doesn't want to kill any one. We'll manage. I promise you that, little sister. Good-bye, I'm off."

However, a sound of footsteps at the end of the passage suddenly frightened them. She quickly drew him close to the grating, in a dark corner. For an instant they heard nothing but the hissing of a gas-burner near them. Then the footsteps drew nearer; and, on stretching out her neck, she recognised inspector Jouve, who had just entered the corridor, with his stiff military walk. Was he there by chance, or had some one at the door warned him of Jean's presence? She was seized with such fright that she quite lost her head; and, pushing Jean out of the dark spot where they were concealed, drove him before her, stammering out: "Be off! Be off!"

Both galloped along, hearing Jouve behind them, for he also had began to run. And again they crossed the parcels office, and reached the foot of the stairs leading out into the Rue de la Michodière.

"Be off!" repeated Denise, "be off! If I can, I'll send you the fifteen francs all the same."

Jean, bewildered, scampered away. The inspector, who came up panting, out of breath, could only distinguish a corner of his white blouse, and his locks of fair hair flying in the wind. For a moment Jouve remained trying to get his breath back and resume his dignified demeanour. He now wore a brand-new white necktie which he had purchased in the linen department and the large bow of which glistened like snow.