I like people to work for me when I employ them!"
Having said this, M. Richard paid no attention to the inspector
and discussed various matters of business with his acting-manager,
who had entered the room meanwhile. The inspector thought he
could go and was gently--oh, so gently!--sidling toward the door,
when M. Richard nailed the man to the floor with a thundering:
"Stay where you are!"
M. Remy had sent for the box-keeper to the Rue de Provence,
close to the Opera, where she was engaged as a porteress.
She soon made her appearance.
"What's your name?"
"Mme. Giry. You know me well enough, sir; I'm the mother
of little Giry, little Meg, what!"
This was said in so rough and solemn a tone that, for a moment,
M. Richard was impressed. He looked at Mme. Giry, in her faded shawl,
her worn shoes, her old taffeta dress and dingy bonnet. It was quite
evident from the manager's attitude, that he either did not know
or could not remember having met Mme. Giry, nor even little Giry,
nor even "little Meg!" But Mme. Giry's pride was so great that
the celebrated box-keeper imagined that everybody knew her.
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