ruches----"

"Naturally! Total, twenty-seven thousand francs!"

"Excuse me! Twenty-seven thousand nine hundred and thirty-three
francs, ninety centimes."

"Call it twenty-eight thousand francs then. Ah, well, M. Van
Klopen, if you are ever paid for this rubbish it won't be by me."

If Van Klopen was expecting this denouement, Pascal wasn't; in
fact, he was so startled, that an exclamation escaped him which
would have betrayed his presence under almost any other
circumstances. What amazed him most was the baron's perfect
calmness, following, as it did, such a fit of furious passion,
violent enough even to be heard in the vestibule. "Either he has
extraordinary control over himself or this scene conceals some
mystery," thought Pascal.

Meanwhile, the man-milliner continued to urge his claims--but the
baron, instead of replying, only whistled; and wounded by this
breach of good manners, Van Klopen at last exclaimed: "I have had
dealings with all the distinguished men in Europe, and never
before did one of them refuse to pay me for his wife's toilettes."

"Very well--I don't pay for them--there's the difference. Do you
suppose that I, Baron Trigault, that I've worked like a negro for
twenty years merely for the purpose of aiding your charming and
useful branch of industry? Gather up your papers, Mr. Ladies'
Tailor. There may be husbands who believe themselves responsible