What most troubled Denise, however, was that she had discovered Colomban's secret. He was continually to be seen on the other side of the street, on the threshold of The Old Elbeuf, his eyes raised and never quitting the young ladies of the jacket and mantle department. When he espied Denise watching him he blushed and turned away his head, as if afraid that she might betray him to Geneviève, although there had been no further connection between the Baudus and their niece since her engagement at The Ladies' Paradise. At first, on seeing his despairing airs, she had fancied that he was in love with Marguerite, for Marguerite, being very well-conducted, and sleeping in the house, was not easy to approach. But great was her astonishment to find that Colomban's ardent glances were intended for Clara. For months past he had been devoured by passion in this way, remaining on the other side of the street and lacking the courage to declare himself; and this for a girl who was perfectly free, who lived in the Rue Louis-le-Grand, and whom he could have spoken to any evening! Clara herself appeared to have no idea of her conquest. Denise's discovery filled her with painful emotion. Was love so idiotic then? What! this fellow, who had real happiness within his reach, was ruining his life for the sake of that good-for-nothing girl whom he adored as reverently as if she had been a saint! From that day forward she felt a heart pang each time she espied Geneviève's pale suffering face behind the greeny panes of The Old Elbeuf.
In the evening, Denise could not help thinking a great deal, on seeing the young ladies march off with their sweethearts. She was sometimes obliged to reply by a smile to a friendly nod from Pauline, for whom Baugé waited regularly every evening at half-past eight, beside the fountain on the Place Gaillon. Then, after going out the last and taking a furtive walk, always alone, she was invariably the first to return, going upstairs to work, or to sleep, her head full of dreams, inquisitive as to the outdoor life of the others, of which she knew nothing. She certainly did not envy them, she was happy in her solitude, in the unsociableness in which she shut herself up, as in a hiding-place; but all the same her imagination carried her away, she would try to guess things, picture the pleasures constantly described before her, the cafés, the restaurants, the theatres, the Sundays spent on the river and in the country taverns. Quite a weariness of mind, a desire mingled with lassitude resulted from these imaginings; and she seemed to have already had her fill of amusements which she had never tasted.