Dupont was obliged to keep his room a week. He had taken rooms in an unpretentious hotel on Rue de Seine. To pass the time, which seemed very long, our provincial spent most of the day at his window. As his rooms were on the third floor, and as the opposite house was not high, Dupont was able to look into the chamber of a neighbor who lived opposite, under the eaves.

"I haven't had any luck in Paris yet," thought Dupont, as he paced the floor slowly, with his head swathed in bandages. "I have done what I could to amuse myself, but I have had poor success; however, I must admit that I sleep less—especially since I received this wound in the face. I won't go to balls any more in search of bonnes fortunes. But sometimes one goes far afield in search of what one has close at hand. In one of those attic chambers opposite, I have noticed a young woman—very pretty she is, on my word! and, above all, well built. I am the better able to judge, because I see her in nÉgligÉ costume—a morning jacket, and a short fustian skirt, as well as I can see from here. But how alluring that simple nÉgligÉ is! It enables one to admire a shapely, flexible figure, and hips! oh! such well-rounded hips! She has a fine shape! It is impossible not to fall in love with such a shape!"

And Dupont, opening his window, although it was quite cold, leaned bravely out, and fastened his eyes on his neighbor's window. It was closed, but the curtains were not drawn, and he could easily see the young woman who lived there, and who was at that moment engaged in arranging her hair before a mirror fastened to the window shutter.

"Her face is captivating," said Dupont to himself; "wide-awake brown eyes, a turned-up nose—À la Roxelane, as they say—and a mouth—hum! the mouth isn't small, but it's well furnished; and then, she has a very pleasant smile. But, on the whole, there's nothing extraordinary about the face, and I prefer the figure. Ah! good! now she's walking about the room—still in that charming costume, tight-fitting white jacket, and the little striped skirt that hangs so well over her rounded hips. I can't see her foot or leg, but they must be beautiful; a tall, graceful figure almost always means a good leg. I certainly am dead in love with that figure; I must make that girl's acquaintance. She must have noticed my assiduity in watching her. It doesn't seem to displease her; there's nothing savage in her manner; on the contrary, there's a merry, aye, a mischievous look about her face, which seems to be intended to encourage one to make her acquaintance. She is probably a seamstress. As soon as I can go out, I'll ask the concierge opposite; I know how to make those fellows talk."

Meanwhile, being engrossed by his neighbor, Dupont slept much less, and sometimes even passed the night without sleep. That was good progress, and he said to himself:

"What a change my wife will see in me when I go back to Brives-la-Gaillarde! All I'm afraid of is that there the desire to sleep will return."

His wound being healed, Dupont was able to get rid of all the bandages in which his head was swathed. He made haste to leave the house, crossed the street to the house in which the girl with the striped skirt lived, and entered the concierge's lodge. In Paris, the porters have all become concierges; just as the shops have become magasins; the wine shops, maisons de commerce; the hair dressers' establishments, salons where one is rejuvenated; the groceries, dÉpÔts for colonial produce; the bakers, pastry cooks; the marchands de confection, tailors; the book shops, cabinets de lecture; the cafÉs, restaurants; soup houses, traiteurs; indeed, even those gentry who haul refuse at night have assumed the title of employÉs À la poudrette.

Dupont accosted the concierge most affably, and slipped his irresistible argument into the hand of that functionary, who, happening to be a woman, asked nothing better than to talk, and instantly laid aside her one-sou illustrated paper, and answered without stopping for breath:

"The girl who lives on the third, second door at the left, is named Georgette; she embroiders for a living, and she has lots of talent; she embroiders like a fairy, so they say! She's twenty years old, I believe, and she hasn't been in Paris long. She's a Lorrainer, and she's full of fun, always ready to talk; and yet I think she's straight. Still, I wouldn't put my hand in the fire to prove it! it's never safe to put your hand in the fire about such things; you'd get burned too often! But I don't see any men go up to Mademoiselle Georgette's. Does she meet any of 'em outside? That's something I can't tell you. You see, when that girl goes out, I don't follow her. But she leads a regular life all the same, and never goes to balls, although I don't think it's the wish to go that's lacking, for I've heard her say more'n once: 'How lucky people are who can afford to enjoy themselves! When shall I have twenty thousand francs a year?'—But, although she hasn't got it, that don't seem to make her sad; for she sings all the time. That's all I can tell you about her, seeing that it's all I know."

"Twenty thousand francs a year!" muttered Dupont, scratching his head. "The devil! it's not I who'll give it to her!—So she embroiders, you say?" he continued.

"Yes, monsieur."

"What?"

"What do you mean by what?"

"I mean, what does she embroider?"

"Oh! collars, handkerchiefs, caps, whatever anyone wants her to embroider."

"Then I might ask her to do something for me?"

"That's your right."

"Very good. I'll go up to Mademoiselle Georgette's."

"Third floor, monsieur."

"Oh! I know."

"Yes, but there's two or three doors; it's the one where you see a toothbrush instead of a tassel on the bell cord."

"I'll remember."

As he mounted the stairs, Dupont said to himself:

"What in the devil can I have her embroider? Ah! a cravat! I believe they're not in fashion, men don't wear embroidered cravats now; but, no matter, I'll tell her it's the fashion at Brives-la-Gaillarde; and, after all, what does she care, so long as I give her work?"

He reached the third landing, where there were several doors; but he discovered the little toothbrush hanging at the end of a bell cord, and he boldly pulled it.

The door was opened by Mademoiselle Georgette herself, who smiled mischievously when she saw who her visitor was. She was still dressed in the white jacket and short fustian skirt; that costume was very becoming to her, it showed off all her good points. If we dared, we would say that that costume is becoming to all women—but we should add: provided they are well built.

"Mademoiselle Georgette—embroiderer?" inquired Dupont, assuming rather a patronizing air.

"Yes, monsieur."

"Mademoiselle, I came—I should like—I was told——"

"Pray come in, monsieur; I don't receive my visitors on the landing."

Dupont asked nothing better than to accept the invitation. He entered a room of which he had only caught a glimpse from his window. It was simply furnished, but extremely neat and clean; the floor was scrubbed and waxed; there was not a speck of dust on the furniture; the bed was very white and smooth; all of which spoke loudly in favor of the occupant. Demosthenes, being asked what constituted an orator, replied: "Elocution, elocution, elocution!" A philosophical king, being asked what occasioned the fall of the ramparts of a city, replied: "Money, money, money!" And Ninon, being asked what was the most beautiful ornament of womankind, replied: "Cleanliness, cleanliness, cleanliness!"

The girl offered Dupont a chair; she did the honors of her domicile with infinite ease, and seemed in no wise intimidated by her visitor. He, on the other hand, while he tried to assume an imposing manner, became exceedingly awkward, and had much difficulty in finding words, especially as Mademoiselle Georgette waited for him to speak, with an expression which seemed to indicate a powerful desire to laugh.

"I came, mademoiselle, for——"

"For something, I presume, monsieur."

"Yes, mademoiselle; I have been told—that you embroider."

"You were told the truth. Have you something you wish to have embroidered?"

"Yes—that is to say—I don't know whether embroidered cravats are worn in Paris?"

"No, monsieur; they are not in style now."

"Indeed! and cuffs?"

"Nor cuffs either."

"And—handkerchiefs?"

"For ladies; oh! yes, monsieur, some beautiful embroidery is done on handkerchiefs."

"Ah! very good! You do embroider handkerchiefs!"

While they conversed, Dupont cast frequent glances at the young woman's feet, which were small and well arched; the lower part of the leg was very shapely; so that his thoughts were diverted, and he murmured again and again:

"Ah! you embroider handkerchiefs!"

In a moment Mademoiselle Georgette laughed heartily, and thereby completely disconcerted her visitor, who gazed at her in amazement, saying:

"You are very merry, I see, mademoiselle."

"It is true, monsieur, that I do not engender melancholy."

"And might I ask what has aroused your merriment at this moment?"

"Why, you, monsieur!"

"I! Ah! it is I who make you laugh! Do you find me so very amusing, pray, mademoiselle?"

"Amusing is not the word, monsieur; but, to speak frankly, you are far from clever in inventing a pretext."

"A pretext! What do you mean? I don't understand."

"Still, it's easy enough to understand. You wanted to have an excuse, a reason, for coming to my room—for you have nothing to be embroidered."

"What makes you think that, mademoiselle?"

"Do you suppose that I do not recognize you, monsieur?"

"Ah! you recognize me, do you?"

"To be sure; you live at the small hotel opposite, where you pass your time staring at me, making eyes at me——"

"Ah! you have noticed that?"

And Dupont puffed himself out like a turkey-cock; he was gratified to have been observed, and drew a favorable augury from that fact.

"Yes, monsieur, I have noticed that," the young embroiderer continued. "How could I have helped seeing it, unless I was blind? Why, the other day, when you came to the window, it was horribly cold, and your nose was all blue! I was strongly tempted to make faces at you."

At this point, Dupont bit his lips and did not puff himself out.

"I didn't do it, because I presumed, seeing your head all bandaged, that you were either sick or hurt; and one should always take pity on those who suffer; but you are cured now, it seems."

"Yes, mademoiselle; I fought a duel, and was wounded in the head."

"Ah! you fought a duel, did you, monsieur? May a body, without being too inquisitive, ask what was the cause of your duel?"

"It was a lady, of great distinction, with whom I happened to be, and at whom an insolent knave presumed to look too closely."

"You fought for a lady! That was very well done, and leads me to forget your glances at me; but tell me, monsieur, why you have come here to-day?"

"Since you are so good at divination, mademoiselle, you ought to have no difficulty in guessing. I saw you from my window, I found you charming, and I desired to make your acquaintance."

"Good! that is plain speaking! And with what purpose do you wish to make my acquaintance? Perhaps you hope to make me your mistress?"

"I do not say that, mademoiselle."

"No, but you think it! As if that wasn't always what men aim at, when they fall in with a poor girl who is weak and foolish enough to believe them! But I am generous enough to warn you that you will waste your time with me."

"In any case, mademoiselle, it would be difficult to waste it more agreeably than in your company."

"That is very prettily said. But, monsieur, I will confess that I have a fancy for knowing the people whom I receive. Now, I don't know you."

"That is true, mademoiselle, that is very true; one must know with whom one is dealing."

And Dupont, who had prepared his little story in advance, straightened himself up in his chair and continued:

"I am an—an American; I was in business, but I have retired; I have money enough to be happy; I am a widower, without children, and therefore at liberty to do exactly as I please."

"Very good, monsieur. And your name?"

"My name is—Dupont."

"Dupont—that is quite a French name; I thought Americans had names more like the English."

"That depends on their origin; my family was French. Now that you know who I am, mademoiselle, will you allow me to pay court to you?"

"I see no objection—provided that you haven't lied to me; for, I give you fair warning, I hate liars!"

Dupont bowed, scratched his head, and rejoined:

"You wished to know who I was, mademoiselle, and I have gratified your wish. In my turn, may I be permitted——"

"To know who I am! Oh! that is soon told: you already know that my name is Georgette, and that I am an embroiderer. I was born at Toul, a pretty village in Lorraine, near Nancy. My parents are not rich, and I have two sisters, both older than I. My two sisters came to Paris in the hope of being better off here and of being able to help our parents, but they didn't succeed. Poor sisters! Then they came back again to us."

"And you have come to Paris in your turn. I am surprised that your parents consented to let you leave them. They might well have been afraid that you would be no more fortunate than your sisters."

"Oh! but I was determined to come to Paris; I had made up my mind to do it; and when I make up my mind to do a thing, it's got to be done."

"That indicates a strong will."

"Yes, monsieur; I have a very strong one."

"And since you have been in Paris, have you found it pleasant?"

"So-so; not too pleasant! Certainly there are plenty of means of enjoyment in Paris, one has such a choice of pleasures! Plays, balls, promenades, concerts—all of them are delightful to those who can afford such diversions. But when you stay in your chamber all day long, and pass your evening working or reading, you hardly enjoy life in Paris."

"That is very true. But what prevents you from enjoying all these amusements that tempt you?"

"Can a woman who is all alone go about to plays and promenades?"

"No, certainly not; but you can have had no lack of cavaliers ready to offer you their arms."

"True; but I don't go with everybody, monsieur; I don't accept the arm of the first comer! Certainly, if I had chosen to listen to all the young men who have followed at my heels and overwhelmed me with their silly declarations of love,—love that seized them all of a sudden when they saw me walk along the street,—I should have had plenty of opportunities! But that isn't what I want!"

Dupont caressed his chin, saying to himself:

"She is exacting; she doesn't choose to go about with every gamin! She wants to make the acquaintance of a comme il faut man. All the chances are in my favor."

Mademoiselle Georgette had resumed her embroidery, looking out of the corner of her eye to see how her visitor bore himself. He looked at her work and exclaimed:

"Mademoiselle, you embroider superbly."

"Do you think so, monsieur? Are you a connoisseur?"

"Yes, my wi—my sister used to embroider."

"Is she in America?"

"Yes, she remained there."

"It's not surprising, monsieur, that I know how to embroider well, for I come from a province renowned for its embroideries. The very best of that sort of work is done at Nancy."

"And you are from Nancy?"

"No; but Toul is quite near. Well! do you really want some handkerchiefs embroidered?"

Dupont began to laugh, and replied:

"Faith! no; and since you have so shrewdly guessed that I came here solely in the hope of making your acquaintance, shall I be so fortunate, mademoiselle, as to have your permission to cultivate it—to come again to see you—and perhaps to offer you my arm sometimes and take you to the play or to walk?"

Mademoiselle Georgette reflected a few moments, gazed earnestly at Dupont, and said at last:

"You have not lied to me in what you have told me about yourself? You are really a widower and free?"

"No, mademoiselle, I have not lied to you," Dupont replied unhesitatingly.

"In that case, monsieur, come to see me; I am willing."

"Ah! mademoiselle, you make me the happiest of men!"

"But you must not make your visits too long; that might compromise me."

Dupont rose, bowed to the young woman, and took his leave, saying to himself:

"She is mine! It may perhaps take longer than I should have liked, but it's only a question of time now. She is mine! and I haven't the slightest desire to sleep."