"Madame's dressmaker?"

"The same. Monsieur and madame were breakfasting together--a most
unusual thing--when M. Van Klopen made his appearance. I thought
to myself, when I admitted him: 'Look out for storms!' I scented
one in the air, and in fact the dressmaker hadn't been in the room
five minutes before we heard the baron's voice rising higher and
higher. I said to myself: 'Whew! the mantua-maker is presenting
his bill!' Madame cried and went on like mad; but, pshaw! when the
master really begins, there's no one like him. There isn't a cab-
driver in Paris who's his equal for swearing."

"And M. Van Klopen?"

"Oh, he's used to such scenes! When gentlemen abuse him he does
the same as dogs do when they come up out of the water; he just
shakes his head and troubles himself no more about it. He has
decidedly the best of the row. He has furnished the goods, and
he'll have to be paid sooner or later----"

"What! hasn't he been paid then?"

"I don't know; he's still here."

A terrible crash of breaking china interrupted this edifying
conversation. "There!" exclaimed one of the footmen, "that's
monsieur; he has smashed two or three hundred francs' worth of
dishes. He MUST be rich to pay such a price for his angry fits."