The day after All Saints, I did not find my companions at the workshop. They were at the cemetery, and the boss asked me why I was not going too.
It was raining, and I replied that I preferred to work better than to go for a walk through the bad weather.
He screamed as if he was angry:
-It’s not a walk, it’s a visit to our dead.
A little gaiety came to see him so furious and I spread laughing:
-Yes, but me, I have no dead.
He looked at me as if I had told him something extraordinary, and he went out immediately to go himself to the cemetery.
October had come. The wedding toilets ended one after the other, and there was nothing left but the white dress that had to be made at the last moment to keep it fresh.
It was Sandrine and Bulldogue who took care of this work. Madame Dalignac gave them white aprons that covered them up to the feet, and they settled for a moment at the end of the table.
Madame Doublé returned as had been predicted by Sandrine. She twirled the models on which the dresses were, and after penciling lines on a piece of paper, she left the studio as she had entered, without saying a word.
That day, like every morning at work, the Avenue du Maine was filled with people walking precipitately and overloaded trams that ran at high speed to the center of Paris.
Despite the crowd, I saw Sandrine right away. She too was taking the plunge and I had to run to catch her.
It was a Monday. Our summer unemployment ended, and we returned to the workshop to begin the winter season.
Bulldog and little Duretour were waiting for us on the sidewalk, and the tall Bergeounette, whom we could see coming across, crossed the avenue without worrying about cars in order to reach us sooner.