"I have the women, I don't care a hang for the rest!" said Mouret, in a brutal confession which passion snatched from him.
At this cry Baron Hartmann appeared moved. His smile lost its touch of irony; he looked at the young man, won over gradually by his confidence, feeling a growing tenderness for him.
"Hush!" murmured he, paternally, "they will hear you."
But the ladies were now all speaking at once, so excited that they weren't even listening to each other. Madame de Boves was finishing the description of a dinner-dress; a mauve silk tunic—draped and caught up by bows of lace; the bodice cut very low, with more bows of lace on the shoulders.
"You'll see." said she. "I am having a bodice made like it, with some satin—"
"I," interrupted Madame Bourdelais, "I wanted some velvet. Oh! s
