He had not forgotten Madame Vantrasson.
But to imagine any bond of interest between Pascal and such a
woman as she was, seemed absurd in the extreme. However, as he
found himself in such a plight and could not afford to let any
chance escape, he repaired merely for form's sake to the
Vantrasson establishment. It had not changed in the least since
the evening he visited it in company with M. Fortunat--but seen in
the full light of day, it appeared even more dingy and
dilapidated. Madame Vantrasson was not in her accustomed place,
behind the counter, between her black cat--her latest idol--and
the bottles from which she prepared her ratafia, now her supreme
consolation here below. There was no one in the shop but the
landlord. Seated at a table, with a lighted candle near him, he
was engaged in an occupation which would have set Chupin's mind
working if he had noticed it. Vantrasson had taken some wax from
a sealed bottle, and, after melting it at the flame of the candle,
he let it drop slowly on to the table. He then pressed a sou upon
it, and when the wax had become sufficiently cool and stiff, he
removed it from the table without destroying the impression, by
means of a thin bladed knife similar to those which glaziers use.
However, Chupin did not remark this singular employment. He was
engaged in mentally ejaculating, "Good! the old woman isn't here.
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