thing?" asked Madame Goujet.

She was very strict on that point. She insisted on having her washing
brought home without a single article being kept back for the sake of
order, as she said. She also required the laundress always to come on
the day arranged and at the same hour; in that way there was no time
wasted.

"Oh! yes, everything is here," replied Gervaise smiling. "You know I
never leave anything behind."

"That's true," admitted Madame Goujet; "you've got into many bad habits
but you're still free of that one."

And while the laundress emptied her basket, laying the linen on the bed,
the old woman praised her; she never burnt the things nor tore them like
so many others did, neither did she pull the buttons off with the iron;
only she used too much blue and made the shirt-fronts too stiff with
starch.

"Just look, it's like cardboard," continued she, making one crackle
between her fingers. "My son does not complain, but it cuts his neck.
To-morrow his neck will be all scratched when we return from Vincennes."

"No, don't say that!" exclaimed Gervaise, quite grieved. "To look nice,
shirts must be rather stiff, otherwise it's as though one had a rag on
one's body. You should just see what the gentlemen wear. I do all your
things myself. The workwomen never touch them and I assure you I take
great pains. I would, if necessary, do everything over a dozen times,
because it's for you, you know."

She slightly blushed as she stammered out the last words. She was afraid
of showing the great pleasure she took in ironing Goujet's shirts. She
certainly had no wicked thoughts, but she was none the less a little bit
ashamed.

"Oh! I'm not complaining of your work; I know it's perfection," said
Madame Goujet. "For instance, you've done this cap splendidly, only you
could bring out the embroidery like that. And the flutings are all so
even. Oh! I recognize your hand at once. When you give even a dish-cloth
to one of your workwomen I detect it at once. In future, use a little
less starch, that's all! Goujet does not care to look like a stylish
gentleman."

She had taken out her notebook and was crossing off the various items.
Everything was in order. She noticed that Gervaise was charging six sous
for each bonnet. She protested, but had to agree that it was in line
with present prices. Men's shirts were five sous, women's underdrawers
four sous, pillow-cases a sou and a half, and aprons one sou. No, the
prices were