"How?" asked he, very pale.
"Yes! she has lovers in this very building."
Mouret found strength to smile. "I don't think any more about her, my dear fellow. You can speak freely. Who are her lovers?"
"Hutin, they say, and then a salesman in the lace department—Deloche, that tall awkward fellow. I can't speak with certainty, never having seen them together. But it appears that it's notorious."
There was a silence. Mouret affected to arrange the papers on his desk, to conceal the trembling of his hands. At last, he observed, without raising his head: "We must have proofs, try and bring me some proofs. As for me, I assure you I don't care in the least, for I'm quite sick of her. But we can't allow such things to go on here."
Bourdoncle simply replied: "Never fear, you shall have proofs on
