Duroy thought for a moment, having forgotten. Then all at once the
recollection occurred to him, "Saint-Potin." He re-read the paragraph in
the _Plume_ and reddened, roused by the accusation of venality. He
exclaimed: "What! do they mean to assert that I am paid--"
Boisrenard interrupted him: "They do, though. It is very annoying for
you. The governor is very strict about that sort of thing. It might
happen so often in the 'Echoes.'"
Saint-Potin came in at that moment. Duroy hastened to him. "Have you
seen the paragraph in the _Plume_?"
"Yes, and I have just come from Madame Aubert. She does exist, but she
was not arrested. That much of the report has no foundation."
Duroy hastened to the room of the governor, whom he found somewhat cool,
and with a look of suspicion in his eye. After having listened to the
statement of the case, Monsieur Walter said: "Go and see the woman
yourself, and contradict the paragraph in such terms as will put a stop
to such things being written about you any more. I mean the latter part
of the paragraph. It is very annoying for the paper, for yourself, and
for me. A journalist should no more be suspected than Caesar's wife."
Duroy got into a cab, with Saint-Potin as his guide, and called out to
the driver: "Number 18 Rue de l'Ecureuil, Montmartre."
It was a huge house, in which they had to go up six flights of stairs.
An old woman in a woolen jacket opened the door to them. "What is it you
want with me now?" said she, on catching sight of Saint-Potin.
He replied: "I have brought this gentleman, who is an inspector of
police, and who would like to hear your story."
Then she let him in, saying: "Two more have been here since you, for
some paper or other, I don't know which," and turning towards Duroy,
added: "So this gentleman wants to know about it?"
"Yes. Were you arrested by an _agent des moeurs_?"
She lifted her arms into the air. "Never in my life, sir, never in my
life. This is what it is all about. I have a butcher who sells good
meat, but who gives bad weight. I have often noticed it without saying
anything; but the other day, when I asked him for two pounds of chops,
as I had my daughter and my son-in-law to dinner, I caught him weighing
in bits of trimmings--trimmings of chops, it is true, but not of mine. I
could have made a stew of them, it is true, as well, but when I ask for
chops it is not to get other people's trimmings. I refused to take them,
and he calls me an old shark. I called him an old rogue, and from one
thing to another we picked up such a row that there were over a hundred
people round the shop, some of them laughing fit to split. So that at
last a police agent came up and asked us to settle it before the
commissary. We went, and he dismissed the case. Since then I get my meat
elsewhere, and don't even pass his door, in order to avoid his
slanders."