insulted her. Why should I not try to make her acquaintance? For some time, my behavior had been virtuous to a degree which accorded neither with my tastes nor with my habits. Being obliged to eschew sentiment with my former acquaintances, I was conscious of a void in my heart which I should be very glad to fill.

I walked after the young woman. One is sometimes sadly at a loss to begin a conversation in the street; but for some reason or other, I did not feel the slightest embarrassment with that girl. She walked so slowly that I easily overtook her. She did not precisely look at me; but I was fully persuaded that she saw me. Should I begin with the usual compliments: "You are adorable! With such pretty eyes, you cannot be cruel!" or other remarks of the same sort? No, they were too stupid and worn too threadbare; so I addressed her as if we were already acquainted, and said:

"Do you like the theatre, mademoiselle?"

"Yes, monsieur, very much!"

She answered without the slightest affectation, and with no indication that she was offended by my question. I took that as a good omen, and continued:

"Would you like to go to-night?"

"To-night? Oh, dear, no! But I was looking for the Palais-Royal advertisement; I wanted to know what they were playing there, and I can't ever find it."

"I am sorry I didn't know that sooner, for I would have shown it to you."

"After all, it don't make any difference."

"But if you like the theatre, won't you allow me to give you some tickets?"

"Tickets! Do you have theatre tickets? for what theatre?"

"It doesn't make any difference: I have some for them all. Perhaps you may think that I am lying, that I say this to trap you, when my only purpose is to make your acquaintance. But I assure you, mademoiselle, that I shall be only too happy to be useful to you. Allow me to send you some tickets; that doesn't bind you to anything."

The girl stopped. We were then near Porte Saint-Denis. She hesitated a moment, then replied:

"Well! send me some tickets; I'll accept them; but don't send them to my house; that'll never do, because I live with my aunts. I have a lot of aunts, and I am not free."

She smiled so comically as she said this, that I saw a double row of lovely teeth. I ventured to take her hand; that was going ahead rather fast, but, for some unknown reason, although I had not been talking with her five minutes, I felt as if I knew her well. She let me hold and press her hand, which was plump and soft; it did not seem to vex her in the least.

"Where shall I send the tickets?"

"To my employer's."

"What is your trade?"

"I mend shawls and fringes. I'm a very good hand at it, I promise you!"

"I don't doubt it, mademoiselle."

"Just now I'm doing an errand for my employer; she always sends me on errands, I don't know why; she says that the dealers aren't so strict with me! It's a bore sometimes to go out so often; but sometimes it's good fun, too."

"Will you tell me your name?"

"No."

"Will you come to a restaurant with me and breakfast?"

"No; in the first place, I haven't got time; they're waiting for me, and I must go back. In the second place, I wouldn't go, anyway, like that, with someone I don't know."

"That's the way to become acquainted."

"Suppose anyone should see me go into a restaurant with you—one of my aunts, for instance! I've got seven aunts!"

"Sapristi! that's worse than Abd-el-Kader! No matter! come and have breakfast with me at my rooms, and you will see at once who I am—that I am not a mere nobody, a man without means or position."

"Oh! I didn't say you were, monsieur."

"I live on Rue Bleue, No. 14; that isn't very far away. If you will trust me, I promise you that I won't even kiss the end of your finger."

"Perhaps not, monsieur; but I tell you, I haven't got time; I must go back; I am late already, and I shall be scolded."

"Very well! where shall I send you a ticket, then?"

"At Madame Ratapond's, No. 48, Rue Meslay; just give it to the concierge. Mark it: For Mademoiselle Rosette, at Madame Ratapond's."

"And you are Mademoiselle Rosette?"

"Perhaps. When will you send the ticket?"

"Whenever you choose."

"To-morrow, then."

"To-morrow, very good!"

"How many seats?"

"I will send you a box with four seats."

"Ah! splendid! That will be fun."

"But you will go?"

"To be sure!"

"And I may speak to you?"

"Dame! I don't know about that. If I am with my employer, you must be careful. But I'll go out in the entr'acte."

"Then I will make an opportunity to say a few words to you. And you won't come and breakfast with me? An hour passes so quickly!"

"Oh, no! no! Adieu, monsieur! You won't forget—Mademoiselle Rosette, at Madame Ratapond's, No. 48, Rue Meslay."

"No, mademoiselle, there's no danger of my forgetting."

She walked away, and I did the same. I was enchanted with my new acquaintance. Mademoiselle Rosette was altogether charming, and in her eyes, in her answers, I saw at once that she was no fool. Suppose that I had fallen upon a pearl, a treasure! It was impossible to say. The things we find without looking for them are often more valuable than those we take a vast amount of trouble to obtain.

XXXIV

THE UMBRELLAS.—THE POLKA

Love and poetry—these are what make hours seem like minutes. Be an author, a poet, a novelist, or a lover, and for you time will have wings. I thought of Mademoiselle Rosette all day, I dreamed of her all night, and the next morning I set about fulfilling my promise. There is nothing so easy, in Paris, as to obtain theatre tickets; it is not necessary to know authors or managers; it is enough to have money. With money one can have whatever one desires. I was on the way to a ticket broker's, when I found myself face to face with Dumouton, the literary man, who was of the dinner party at Deffieux's.

Poor Dumouton had not changed; he was still the same in physique and in dress. The yellowish-green or faded apple-green coat; the skin-tight trousers of any color you choose. But I noticed that he had two umbrellas under his arm, although there were no signs of rain. He offered me his hand, as if he were overjoyed to meet me, crying:

"Why, Monsieur Rochebrune! bonjour! how are you? It's a long while since I had the pleasure of meeting you."

"Very well, thanks, Monsieur Dumouton! indeed, I believe we have not met since Dupréval's dinner."

"True. We had a fine time at that dinner; everybody told some little anecdote; it was very amusing."

"Are you still writing plays?"

"Still. But one can't find such a market as one would like. There is so much intriguing at the theatres! The writing of a play isn't the most difficult part, but the getting it acted. Speaking of theatres, you don't happen to need an umbrella, do you?"

"No, thanks, I have one. Are you selling umbrellas now?"

"No—but—it happens that I bought one yesterday; and, meanwhile, my wife had bought one, too. So you see, we have too many; I would be glad of a chance to get rid of one; I would sell it cheap."

"If I hadn't one already, I might make a trade with you; but as I don't need it——"

"Still, it's often convenient to have two or three; for you lose one sometimes, or lend it to somebody who doesn't return it. That has happened to me a hundred times; and then, when you want to go out, it rains; you look for your umbrella, and it isn't there. That is very annoying; so it's more prudent to have two."

"But you apparently don't think so, as you want to sell one of yours."

"Oh! we have five in the house now."

"That makes a difference; but I don't quite understand why you bought another."

Dumouton