Jupillon was constantly complaining that he was tired of working for
others, that he could not set up for himself, that he could not find
fifteen or eighteen hundred francs in his mother's purse. He needed no
more than that, he said, to hire a couple of rooms on the ground floor
and set up as a glover in a small way. Indeed he was already dreaming of
what he might do and laying out his plans: he would open a shop in the
quarter, an excellent quarter for his business, as it was full of
purchasers, and of makers of wretched gloves at five francs. He would
soon add a line of perfumery and cravats to his gloves; and then, when
he had made a tidy sum, he would sell out and take a fine shop on Rue de
Richelieu.
Whenever he mentioned the subject Germinie asked him innumerable
questions. She wanted to know everything that was necessary to start in
business. She made him tell her the names of the tools and
appurtenances, give her an idea of their prices and where they could be
bought. She questioned him as to his trade and the details of his work
so inquisitively and persistently that Jupillon lost his patience at
last and said to her:
"What's all this to you? The work sickens me enough now; don't mention
it to me!"
One Sunday she walked toward Montmartre with him. Instead of taking Rue
Frochot she turned into Rue Pigalle.
"Why, this ain't the way, is it?" said Jupillon.
"I know what I'm about," said she, "come on."
She had taken his arm, and she walked on, turning her head slightly away
from him so that he could not see what was taking place on her face.
Half way along Rue Fontaine Saint-Georges, she halted abruptly in front
of two windows on the ground floor of a house, and said to him: "Look!"
She was trembling with joy.
Jupillon looked; he saw between the two windows, on a glistening copper
plate:
_Magasin de Ganterie._