“Very well, give it me.”

“To the President of the Civil Court: 

“Monsieur Plumet, of 27 Rue Hauteville, in the city of Paris, by Counsellor Boule, his advocate, craves leave—­”

It was a proceeding against a refractory debtor, the commonest thing in the world.

“Monsieur Massinot!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who brought these papers?”

“A very pretty little woman brought them this morning while you were out, sir.”

“Monsieur Massinot, whether she was pretty or not, it is no business of yours to criticise the looks of the clients.”

“I did not mean to offend you, Monsieur Mouillard.”

“You have not offended me, but you have no business to talk of a ’pretty client.’  That epithet is not allowed in a pleading, that’s all.  The lady is coming back, I suppose?”

“Yes, sir.”

Little Madame Plumet soon called again, tricked out from head to foot in the latest fashion.  She was a little flurried on entering a room full of jocular clerks.  Escorted by Massinot, both of them with their eyes fixed on the ground, she reached my office.  I closed the door after her.  She recognized me.

“Monsieur Mouillard!  What a pleasant surprise!”

She held out her hand to me so frankly and gracefully that I gave her mine, and felt sure, from the firm, expressive way in which she clasped it, that Madame Plumet was really pleased to see me.  Her ruddy cheeks and bright eyes recalled my first impression of her, the little dressmaker running from the workshop to the office, full of her love for M. Plumet and her grievances against the wicked cabinetmaker.

“What, you are back again with Counsellor Boule?  I am surprised!”

“So am I, Madame Plumet, very much surprised.  But such is life!  How is Master Pierre progressing?”

“Not quite so well, poor darling, since I weaned him.  I had to wean him, Monsieur Mouillard, because I have gone back to my old trade.”

“Dressmaking?”

“Yes, on my own account this time.  I have taken the flat opposite to ours, on the same floor.  Plumet makes frames, while I make gowns.  I have already three workgirls, and enough customers to give me a start.  I do not charge them very dear to begin with.

“One of my customers was a very nice young lady—­you know who!  I have not talked to her of you, but I have often wanted to.  By the way, Monsieur Mouillard, did I do my errand well?”

“What errand?”

“The important one, about the portrait at the Salon.”

“Oh, yes; very well indeed.  I must thank you.”

“She came?”

“Yes, with her father.”

“She must have been pleased!  The drawing was so pretty.  Plumet, who is not much of a talker, is never tired of praising it.  I tell you, he and I did not spare ourselves.  He made a bit of a fuss before he would take the order; he was in a hurry—­such a hurry; but when he saw that I was bent on it he gave in.  And it is not the first time he has given in.  Plumet is a good soul, Monsieur Mouillard.  When you know him better you will see what a good soul he is.  Well, while he was cutting out the frame, I went to the porter’s wife.  What a business it was!  I am glad my errand was successful!”