She lives down the street and buys always in the evening--a dark, genteel appearing Frenchwoman, with a strange way of looking down even when other people would be likely to look up.

Do you remember her ?" Yes, she remembered her and recognized her perfectly from this description.

He saw this at once, but he kept right on talking as he handled first one piece of goods and then another, seeming to hesitate between the gray and the brown.
"She went out of town yesterday, and wanted this material sent after her.

Do you think you could do that for me, or shall I have to see to expressing it myself?
I'll do it if I must--only I've forgotten her exact address." This he muttered self-reproachfully, "I've a shocking bad memory, and it's growing worse every day.

You don't happen to know where she's gone to, do you ?" The innocence of this appeal from one of his years and benevolent aspect did not appear to raise the woman's suspicion; yet she limited her reply to this short statement: "I'll send the goods, if you will make your choice." And it was not till long after that he learned that Madame Duclos, being very anxious for her mail and such newspapers as she wanted, had made arrangements with this woman to forward them.
Disappointed, but still hoping for some acknowledgment that would give him what he wanted, he continued to putter with the goods, when she broke in with harsh decision: "I think she would prefer the gray." "Oh, do you ?" said he, with just a hint of disapproval at the suggestion.
"I like brown best, myself; but let it be the gray.