Cazaban, as it happened, was just then on the threshold of his shop, the
lofty windows and pale green painting of which enlivened the dull Place,
which was so deserted on week-days. When he was not pressed with work he
delighted to parade in this manner, standing between his two windows,
which pots of pomatum and bottles of perfumery decorated with bright
shades of colour.
He at once recognised the gentlemen. "Very flattered, very much honoured.
Pray walk in, I beg of you," he said.
Then, at the first words which M. de Guersaint said to him to excuse the
man who had driven him to Gavarnie, he showed himself well disposed. Of
course it was not the man's fault; he could not prevent wheels coming to
pieces, or storms falling. So long as the travellers did not complain all
was well.
"Oh!" thereupon exclaimed M. de Guersaint, "it's a magnificent country,
never to be forgotten."
"Well, monsieur, as our neighbourhood pleases you, you must come and see
us again; we don't ask anything better," said Cazaban; and, on the
architect seating himself in one of the arm-chairs and asking to be
shaved, he began to bustle about.
His assistant was still absent, running errands for the pilgrims whom he
lodged, a whole family, who were taking a case of chaplets, plaster
Virgins, and framed engravings away with them.
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