Indeed, ever since noon, Sidonie has listened intently to the slightest sounds on the floor below, the child’s crying, the closing of doors.  Risler attempts to go down again in order to avoid a renewal of the conversation at breakfast; but his wife will not allow him to do so.  The very least he can do is to stay with her when everybody else abandons her, and so he remains there, at a loss what to say, rooted to the spot, like those people who dare not move during a storm for fear of attracting the lightning.  Sidonie moves excitedly about, going in and out of the salon, changing the position of a chair, putting it back again, looking at herself as she passes the mirror, and ringing for her maid to send her to ask Pere Achille if no one has inquired for her.  That Pere Achille is such a spiteful creature!  Perhaps when people have come, he has said that she was out.

But no, the concierge has not seen any one.

Silence and consternation.  Sidonie is standing at the window on the left, Risler at the one on the right.  From there they can see the little garden, where the darkness is gathering, and the black smoke which the chimney emits beneath the lowering clouds.  Sigismond’s window is the first to show a light on the ground floor; the cashier trims his lamp himself with painstaking care, and his tall shadow passes in front of the flame and bends double behind the grating.  Sidonie’s wrath is diverted a moment by these familiar details.

Suddenly a small coupe drives into the garden and stops in front of the door.  At last some one is coming.  In that pretty whirl of silk and flowers and jet and flounces and furs, as it runs quickly up the step, Sidonie has recognized one of the most fashionable frequenters of the Fromont salon, the wife of a wealthy dealer in bronzes.  What an honor to receive a call from such an one!  Quick, quick! the family takes its position, Monsieur in front of the hearth, Madame in an easychair, carelessly turning the leaves of a magazine.  Wasted pose!  The fair caller did not come to see Sidonie; she has stopped at the floor below.

Ah! if Madame Georges could hear what her neighbor says of her and her friends!

At that moment the door opens and “Mademoiselle Planus” is announced.  She is the cashier’s sister, a poor old maid, humble and modest, who has made it her duty to make this call upon the wife of her brother’s employer, and who is amazed at the warm welcome she receives.  She is surrounded and made much of.  “How kind of you to come!  Draw up to the fire.”  They overwhelm her with attentions and show great interest in her slightest word.  Honest Risler’s smiles are as warm as his thanks.  Sidonie herself displays all her fascinations, overjoyed to exhibit herself in her glory to one who was her equal in the old days, and to reflect that the other, in the room below, must hear that she has had callers.  So she makes as much noise as possible, moving chairs, pushing the table around; and when the lady takes her leave, dazzled, enchanted, bewildered, she escorts her to the landing with a great rustling of flounces, and calls to her in a very loud voice, leaning over the rail, that she is at home every Friday.  “You understand, every Friday.”