"A very pretty bouquet that!"

"Oh! it doesn't make any difference, I am going to give him some flowers to-day; and I came here again, for I dreamed of the flower girl all night."

"Really!"

"Yes, yes; I was a pacha and she was a slave."

"Mademoiselle," said Jericourt aloud, turning to Violette, "here's a young man who dreamed about you all night, just because he saw you yesterday."

Monsieur Astianax turned scarlet; he pulled the skirt of Jericourt's coat and whispered: "Oh! I won't tell you anything more! You make me blush!"

"Don't be alarmed; on the contrary, I am acting in your interest; you are in love with mademoiselle--very good, I tell her so for you. Who knows? perhaps you will be more fortunate than the rest of us, especially as you have all that a man requires to succeed."

Jericourt uttered the last words in such an ironical tone that any other than little Astianax would have taken them in very bad part; but he, on the contrary, accepted them as the truth; he smiled and twisted his mouth into the shape of an ace of spades, while his eyes shot flames to right and left.

Violette restrained the intense desire to laugh caused by young Astianax's contortions of feature; she said as she arranged her flowers:

"Come, monsieur, choose. Do you want a bouquet? Here's a very pretty one,--as monsieur doesn't take it."

"Yes--that is to say, you must make me one; but I'll explain what you must put in it: I want some heliotrope--that's the flower of witty people; then some myrtle--that means interest, affection; and a tulip in the centre--that means an honest heart, decent behavior."

"What, my dear Astianax, does the tulip mean all that?" said Jericourt, laughingly; "I should never have suspected it. The devil! you are very learned about flowers. Go on--what else do you want?"

"A few red carnations--they mean that one would fight at need for the object of one's love; I put them in for myself, you understand; then a poppy and some immortelles--they promise strength and health, and they will please my father, for he is always thinking that he's sick; he took a bottle of lemonade only this morning--you know, the kind of lemonade that purges.--Surround the whole with pansies, and I shall have a bouquet full of meaning--a genuine _selam_."

"Bravo, young man, bravo! With such bouquets you will make your way very rapidly with the ladies!"

"This one is for papa; but later, I hope----"

"I am very sorry, monsieur," said Violette, "but I can't make such a bouquet as you want; I have no red carnations; you will hardly find any at this season, and I haven't any myrtle, or any poppies."

"The devil! that's annoying; but I should be sorry to apply to another flower girl; on the contrary, I mean to give you my custom."

"I am quite sure, monsieur, that no other flower girl will have what you want--not in this quarter, at all events. Take my advice, monsieur, and buy this bouquet that I was offering to monsieur--just roses and violets; it's very pretty, and it's the last one; I haven't got anything left to make one like it."

"I don't say that it isn't very nice, but it doesn't express my meaning--and it isn't a _selam_, either."

"But just see the pretty roses, the lovely buds! Anybody would say it was a lovely bouquet."

"And I agree with anybody; the bouquet is as pretty as the seller; and faith! that's saying a great deal!"

These last words were uttered by a gentleman of mature years, dressed with some elegance, whose bearing, whose manners, and whose smile even, instantly pointed him out as one who frequented the best society. His features were regular, refined and distinguished; but they also indicated that their owner had taken a great deal out of life; his face was worn, the flesh beneath his eyes was puffed out, his forehead and cheeks were furrowed with wrinkles. In a word, he was naught but a remnant of a very good-looking man, but he still had the _comme il faut_ manner, the intelligent eye, and the slightly impertinent and satirical tone.

This individual was leaning on a very handsome cane, holding in his right hand an eyegla.s.s through which he was examining Violette; he had paused in front of her booth and listened to her last words; and with his eyes fixed upon her lovely face, he muttered between his teeth:

"It's strange! there is a resemblance--to whom I can't say; but I know a face like that."

Jericourt and little Astianax were greatly surprised when they saw the newcomer take the bouquet from the girl's hands, saying:

"How much for this bouquet?"

"Three francs, monsieur."

"Three francs! Pardieu! that's nothing at all; bouquets seem to be cheap in this quarter. I'll take it. Here, my pretty flower girl, pay yourself."

And he handed Violette a five-franc piece; whereupon little Astianax stood on tiptoe and cried:

"But I bargained for that bouquet before you did, monsieur, and I am going to buy it. You can't purchase it, not you."

The gentleman contented himself with a disdainful glance at the young man as he repeated:

"Here, my girl, pay yourself."

At this point Jericourt thought fit to take part in the discussion. He stepped between Astianax and the stranger, and, a.s.suming a self-sufficient tone, remarked to the latter:

"I was the first one who negotiated for that bouquet; so the flower girl has no right to sell it to anybody else, as I am ready to pay the price she asked. Be kind enough to give it to me, monsieur;--do you understand?"

The elderly gentleman simply turned his eyegla.s.s on Jericourt, and holding his head a little sidewise, said with an ironical smile:

"When I was your age, monsieur, I never allowed anything that I had in hand to be taken from me, and I have clung to that habit as I grew older;--do you understand?"

The gentleman's self-a.s.sured manner and the tone of persiflage in which he made this retort surprised our man of letters, who did not know just what to do; but it was not so with little Astianax, who was furious because the stranger seemed to pay no heed to him, to treat him like a child. He stepped up to him, looked him in the face as well as he could, and shouted, in a voice which anger made exceedingly shrill:

"I don't know why monsieur didn't answer me! You see, I don't allow myself to be insulted! I don't propose to be treated like a child, I don't! I have plenty of s.p.u.n.k, I have!"

"So! you are s.p.u.n.ky, are you, my good friend?" rejoined the gentleman, turning his gla.s.s upon Astianax. "Indeed! so much the better! I congratulate you, for it may be a good thing for you when you grow up."

"What's that? when I grow up? I am nineteen years old, monsieur, and at that age one isn't afraid of anybody!"

"Nonsense! nonsense! that isn't possible! You mean nine."

This remark made little Astianax tremble with rage; he stamped the ground and seemed disposed to rush at the gentleman, who continued to stare at him and even ventured to smile as he scrutinized him. Violette, fearing that the little man would resort to violence, had risen to restrain him, and Jericourt, whom the quarrel seemed to amuse, was wondering what would happen next, when the scene changed as suddenly as when the manager's whistle is heard at the Opera.

On the boulevard, however, Chicotin Patatras acted once more as the scene-shifter.

Georget's friend had been sauntering about the Chateau d'Eau for several minutes; being desirous to spend during the morning all the money that he had left from the day before, the young rascal had breakfasted so sumptuously that his brain was a little excited, and he felt in the mood for perpetrating a practical joke. In this frame of mind, he had noticed that several gentlemen were standing in front of the flower girl's booth, and he soon recognized Jericourt as the man whom he had tried to throw down on the preceding day. He said to himself instantly:

"Why shouldn't I do to-day what I missed doing yesterday? My little Georget don't like that scented dandy; he's there again, prowling round the flower girl; if I knock him over, I shall be doing a friend a favor, and then too it's fun for me. I must go about it playfully; Chopard ain't here to push me--that's a shame.--Ah! pardi! I'll just go and grab that cabby's glazed hat, as he stands dreaming there by his horses; of course he'll chase me, and I'll run between my man's legs."

Chicotin put his plan into execution forthwith. The cabman, bereft of his hat, ran after the _gamin_, shouting at the top of his lungs; he fled in the direction of the flower girl and hurled himself suddenly against the legs of someone, whom he bowled over, while the others hastily stepped aside; but Chicotin had missed his aim again; it was not Jericourt, but little Astianax, who was sprawling on the asphalt.

"Upon my word, Mademoiselle Violette, it's impossible to stop in front of your booth, it seems!" said Jericourt, turning angrily away. "I congratulate you on the way you treat your customers, and especially on the champion you have chosen for that purpose. If it's for him that you insist on remaining a flower girl, it doesn't speak well for your taste."

"What's that? what did the dark-haired dandy say?" cried Chicotin, rising and tossing the cabman his hat. "I didn't understand his apology."

"I don't know what the gentleman said," exclaimed Violette, "but I do know this, Monsieur Chicotin, that you have played the same trick two days in succession on people who were standing in front of my shop; and I propose that it shall stop; if not, I know to whom to complain."

During this exchange of words, young Astianax had risen, with a lump on his forehead, and both knees of his trousers torn; because he wore straps under his feet, which inevitably caused the cloth to tear at the slightest strain.