As to the choicer things, each, they were told, had been used
by Monsieur Tiphaine, or Madame Julliard, or Monsieur the mayor, the
notables of the place. The idea of having things done as the rich
bourgeois of Provins did them carried the day for the contractor.
"Oh, if Monsieur Garceland has it in his house, put it in," said
Mademoiselle Rogron. "It must be all right; his taste is good."
"Sylvie, see, he wants us to have ovolos in the cornice of the
corridor."
"Do you call those ovolos?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"What an odd name! I never heard it before."
"But you have seen the thing?"
"Yes."
"Do you understand Latin?"
"No."
"Well, it means eggs--from the Latin _ovum_."
"What queer fellows you are, you architects!" cried Rogron. "It is
stepping on egg-shells to deal with you."
"Shall we paint the corridor?" asked the builder.
"Good heavens, no!" cried Sylvie. "That would be five hundred francs
more!"
"Oh, but the salon and the staircase are too pretty not to have the
corridor decorated too," said the man. "That little Madame Lesourd had
hers painted last year."
"And now, her husband, as king's attorney, is obliged to leave
Provins."
"Ah, he'll be chief justice some of these days," said the builder.
"How about Monsieur Tiphaine?"
"Monsieur Tiphaine? he's got a pretty wife and is sure to get on.
He'll go to Paris. Shall we paint the corridor?"
"Yes, yes," said Rogron.
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