Mme. Vauquer glanced round, and saw in a moment on which side her
interest lay. She waddled across to Mlle. Michonneau.
"Come, now," she said; "you would not be the ruin of my establishment,
would you, eh? There's a dear, kind soul. You see what a pass these
gentlemen have brought me to; just go up to your room for this
evening."
"Never a bit of it!" cried the boarders. "She must go, and go this
minute!"
"But the poor lady has had no dinner," said Poiret, with piteous
entreaty.
"She can go and dine where she likes," shouted several voices.
"Turn her out, the spy!"
"Turn them both out! Spies!"
"Gentlemen," cried Poiret, his heart swelling with the courage that
love gives to the ovine male, "respect the weaker sex."
"Spies are of no sex!" said the painter.
"A precious sexorama!"
"Turn her into the streetorama!"
"Gentlemen, this is not manners! If you turn people out of the house,
it ought not to be done so unceremoniously and with no notice at all.
We have paid our money, and we are not going," said Poiret, putting on
his cap, and taking a chair beside Mlle. Michonneau, with whom Mme.
Vauquer was remonstrating.
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