w, between two pyramids of pink and blue packets of
biscuits, one could always catch sight of the serious-looking Madame
Desvarennes, knitting woollen stockings for her husband while waiting
for customers. With her prominent forehead, and her eyes always bent on
her work, this woman appeared the living image of perseverance.

At the end of five years of incessant work, and possessing twenty
thousand francs, saved sou by sou, the Desvarennes left the slopes of
Montmartre, and moved to the centre of Paris. They were ambitious
and full of confidence. They set up in the Rue Vivienne, in a shop
resplendent with gilding and ornamented with looking-glasses. The
ceiling was painted in panels with bright hued pictures that caught the
eyes of the passers-by. The window-shelves were of white marble, and the
counter, where Madame Desvarennes was still enthroned, was of a width
worthy of the receipts that were taken every day. Business increased
daily; the Desvarennes continued to be hard and systematic workers.
The class of customers alone had changed; they were more numerous
and richer. The house had a specialty for making small rolls for the
restaurants. Michel had learned from the Viennese bakers how to make
those golden balls which tempt the most rebellious appetite, and which,
when in an artistically folded damask napkin, set off a dinner-table.

About this time Madame Desvarennes, while calculating how much the
millers must gain on the flour they sell to the bakers, resolved, in
order to lessen expenses, to do without middlemen and grind her own
corn. Michel, naturally timid, was frightened when his wife disclosed to
him the simple project which she had formed. Accustomed to submit to the
will of her whom he respectfully called "the mistress," and of whom he
was but the head clerk, he dared not oppose her. But, a red-tapist by
nature, and hating innovations, owing to weakness of mind, he trembled
inwardly and cried in agony:

"Wife, you'll ruin us."

The mistress calmed the poor man's alarm; she tried to impart to him
some of her confidence, to animate him with her hope, but without
success, so she went on without him. A mill was for sale at Jouy, on the
banks of the Oise; she paid ready money for it, and a few weeks later
the bakery in the Rue Vivienne was independent of every one. She ground
her own flour, and from that time business increased considerably.
Feeling capable of carrying out large undertakings, and, moreove