At that moment a young woman, with her head enveloped in a silk handkerchief, from beneath which long locks of chestnut hair emerged and hung in corkscrew curls on both sides of her face, approached the young men and accosted them with rather a brazen-faced air, thrusting divers bunches of violets almost into their faces.

"Messieurs, buy a bouquet of me, be the first to buy; you'll bring me luck."

"Aha! it's Bastringuette," said Albert, smiling at the girl, whose pale, thin face, eyes circled with black, and hoarse voice, suggested a very fatiguing profession.

"Come, buy of me; you always have some lady to give flowers to! you're a good customer!"

"You strike me at a bad time, my poor girl; my love affairs are too prosperous at this moment, I don't need to be gallant."

"I say, Bastringuette, what sort of business are you doing, that you have those black rings round your eyes, and look so fagged out?" said Monsieur CÉlestin, taking the flower girl by the chin. She had large brown eyes surmounted by heavy eyebrows, a large but well-shaped mouth, and would still have been a seductive person had she but a little fresher color and a less brazen expression.

"I do what I want! What odds is it to you who never buy anything of me?"

"Because I don't need to give bouquets to gain my ends, it is fair to suppose."

"Come, take away your paws! I don't wear anything false, I don't need to be felt of!—And you, my little love, won't you buy something of me? With such a face and style, you ought to have mistresses on every street, and even on the boulevards!"

This complimentary speech was addressed to Tobie Pigeonnier; he seemed to be exceedingly flattered by it, and, to manifest his satisfaction, rested his nose on each bunch of violets on her tray in turn, saying:

"She's very amusing, very clever, this flower girl! She has a pair of eyes—what pistols! how she fires 'em at you point-blank!"

"Well, my dear boy, are you going to confine yourself to putting your nose on all the bouquets? Thanks! You may sprinkle 'em, but that's not the kind of dampness that keeps 'em fresh. Come, buy this bunch!"

"No, I have no victims to sacrifice to-day; unless you would like to be one—eh, hussy?"

"Stop that! You're too puffy for me! I don't like wax figures; I should be afraid you'd melt in my arms!"

Albert and CÉlestin roared with laughter at the wry face which Tobie made when he received this compliment from the flower girl. Having tried once more to place his glass in his right eye, he cast a disdainful glance at Mademoiselle Bastringuette, saying:

"You are like your flowers, my dear; when one looks at you too close, he sees that he would be cheated."

"Dame! that's not like you! one has only to glance at you to be satisfied that he gets nothing for his money."

Tobie's two friends laughed louder than ever; and he concluded to try to laugh with them, saying:

"The devil! we're dealing with a good fighter! I fancy I shall not have the last word with her."

"Not the last word nor anything else, my little fat man. Dame! all the pleasure we poor girls have is with our tongue! We must make the most of it, for it don't cost anything."

"Take care! The tongue is the best and the worst part of us. Æsop said that."

"I don't know the gentleman; but mine seems to be a good one, for it don't wear out at all. It ain't like your waistcoat; see, monsieur, it's giving out under the arms!"

And Mademoiselle Bastringuette, whose eyes detected the most carefully hidden secrets of a man's toilet, pointed out to Tobie's friends a place in his silk waistcoat, which, although it was almost hidden by his coat, she had discovered. There was a rent large enough to show the sleeve of his shirt, which was of a coarse and yellow linen vastly different from that of the front.

The stout young man made haste to button his coat.

"I must have torn it when I put it on," he said. "My tailor always makes the armholes too small! and then, crac! an accident."

"Oh! no, monsieur; that wasn't an accident! it's pretty well worn out on that side. See, it's like my dress! There's some attic windows for you!"

As she spoke, Mademoiselle Bastringuette lifted her arms and showed two great holes in her dress, under her armpits.

"I hope you'll believe that I've got another one to put on, though," she continued, with a smile. "Bah! what do I care! it won't hinder my selling my violets! And even if someone does see my skin! There's no harm done, after all. I haven't got a turkey's skin, like lots of women that have fine dresses and a dirty lining."

"She's very original; indeed, she's quite—original, is this girl," said Tobie, who was very glad that she had ceased to talk about his waistcoat; "she amuses me mightily."

"Why," said Albert, "didn't you know her before?"

"This is the first time I ever saw her."

"For a man who has lived in the ChaussÉe d'Antin for three years, that is very surprising. Everybody about here knows Bastringuette, the flower girl who sells violets on Boulevard des Italiens."

"I seldom buy flowers; their odor makes me ill."

"Yes, I sell violets when there are any," said Bastringuette; "but when they're all gone, I sell other things—oranges, nuts, green peas, lettuce. There's always something to sell, at all seasons, and that's why they call us marchandes des quatre saisons."

"It seems to me that your lover doesn't keep you very handsomely," observed CÉlestin, with a mocking glance at the girl.

"My lover! dame! I don't know how he does it, but he never has a sou; and he's little better off for clothes than I am; luckily, love don't need a new coat to keep warm."

"Are you still with Sans-Cravate?" asked Albert, taking the largest bunch of violets on the girl's tray.

"To be sure. Oh! we poor girls aren't like the great ladies; we don't change our bill of fare every day."

"What! is that ne'er-do-well of a Sans-Cravate your lover?" said CÉlestin. "I don't congratulate you, my poor Bastringuette! The fellow often beats you, I suppose, doesn't he?"

"Beat me!" cried the girl, contracting her heavy eyebrows. "When a man beats me, it will be because I have no teeth left to eat his eyes out, and no nails to tear his nose. You think that a man beats his mistress, just because he's a messenger! Oh, yes! that's all very nice, but it ain't our style. We ain't brutes, just because we belong to the common people. It's much more likely to be you who amuse yourself striking women! The men who wear jackets ain't always the meanest curs. There are some vile hearts under fine coats."

Monsieur CÉlestin de Valnoir seemed far from pleased by this apostrophe; he bit his lip, and there was something very like a threat in the look he gave the girl; but she sustained it without the slightest evidence of emotion.

Tobie, enchanted to find that she paid no further attention to him, and that somebody else was now the object of her sarcasms, twirled his cane like a drum-major, and laughed aloud, swaying from side to side as if he were on a tight-rope.

"And then," continued Bastringuette, rearranging her bouquets, "why should you say that Sans-Cravate is a ne'er-do-well? What has he ever done to be called that? because he's a bit noisy and quick-tempered and quarrelsome? because he gets a little tight, now and then? A great crime, that! That's what you call doing wrong! A man works, then enjoys himself—is that any more than fair? And all the fine things he's done—no one ever speaks of them, because he don't crow about 'em himself!"

"Oho! so Monsieur Sans-Cravate does fine things, does he?" sneered CÉlestin. "I've never read of any of them in the newspapers."

"The newspapers! they're great authority! Run by people who lie from New Year's Day to Saint-Sylvestre, and make up a lot of stories without any head or tail, that would drive you crazy if you believed 'em all. That's what happened to my poor mother. She didn't know any better than to stuff her head full of what a lot of papers said. She read 'em in the concierge's room, at all the neighbors', and at the grocer's, and she used to say to us every day: 'Things are going wrong, children; the people are very discontented; there'll be an upset before long, for a body won't be able to sneeze without having to pay a tax to the government, and that will make it very expensive for people with colds in their heads. Bread will go to thirty sous a loaf, and we shan't be able to go out next winter without being murdered, and perhaps worse.'—'Well, then, mother,' I'd say, 'we'll just stay in the house, and eat potatoes if we can't get bread.'—But all that stuff turned her brain, I tell you; she died in six months; and the doctor himself said: 'Your mother died of indigestion caused by canards [ducks],' and the nonsense they stuff the newspapers with is canards. But here I am chattering like a magpie, and that don't sell my flowers."

"Here," said Albert, handing the girl a five-franc piece, "this is for the bunch of violets, which I will keep; for it wouldn't be fair to have made you talk all this time for nothing."

"Ah! thanks, my little darling! you're a nice boy, you are; that makes up for some of those who ain't!"

And Bastringuette went her way along the boulevard, crying:

"Buy flowers, messieurs and mesdames! buy some pretty violets! The spring has come; buy flowers for your ladies!"

"She's no fool," said Albert, looking after her as she walked away; "she is very amusing, and quick at repartee."

"That is to say," rejoined CÉlestin, "she is one of those people who say whatever comes into their head; and as there may happen to be an occasional witty remark in the midst of a mass of nonsense, it's the fashion to say that such people are very bright. That girl is exceedingly impertinent, and that's the extent of her wit, in my opinion."

"Messieurs," said Albert, "our meeting with Bastringuette interrupted our conversation, which was very interesting, however. We were speaking of Madame Plays, and I proposed to turn over to one of you my appointment for this evening. Are there no takers?"

"Do you make that proposition seriously?" said young Tobie Pigeonnier, patting the gold head of his cane.

"Most seriously, I assure you! I have never been in love with Madame Plays; I paid court to her, purely as a joke, to play a trick on Saint-Clair; but my one desire now is to break with my fair conquest."

"Really, Madame Plays is very attractive!" rejoined Monsieur Tobie, throwing away the end of his cigar; "she's a very fine woman, her face is extremely pretty; and then, you see, I have a penchant for plump women."

"In that case, you would be served to your taste," said CÉlestin.

"But to take your place at a rendezvous; how the devil can that be arranged?"

"Nothing easier," said Albert. "I am to be at the flower market on Boulevard de la Madeleine—near the church, you know—at half-past eight this evening."

"I know the place very well; I often walk there on market days. Some very distinguished women come there—women in carriages; I have noticed that the flowers were only a pretext, and that they came there for other things than orange blossoms and camellias."

"Very good; Madame Plays will be there. I will give you a little note for her, in which I will say that some unexpected business may detain me a little while, but that I send her one of my friends, whose discretion is unquestionable, and who will escort her to a place where I will join her as soon as I possibly can. With that note, you will go to the rendezvous in my place, you will hand the note to Madame Plays, and take her where you choose, pretending that it is a place selected by me, and that you are to stay with her, for company, until I come. I fail to appear, the lady is furious with me, and you console her. Faith! it seems to me that that will go of itself."

"It's an intrigue all cut and dried for you," said CÉlestin.

Tobie shook his head; the scheme evidently pleased him, but he seemed to feel that it required reflection.

"Do you think Madame Plays will accept my escort?" he asked; "won't she be angry when she sees that you have let me into the secret of your intrigue with her?"

"Don't be alarmed, my dear Tobie; I know the person I am sending you to; of course, I wouldn't do this with all women; but I know Madame Plays; she's a jade who snaps her fingers at what people may say, and is proud of her conquests. The fair Herminie is almost a man in petticoats."

"The devil! I hope that that is true only with respect to her moral qualities."

"Never fear; physically, she is superbly feminine. Her husband pays no sort of heed to what she does. Indeed, she leads him by the nose. If she should tell him that the obelisk of Luxor had made her a mother, he would believe it, or would pretend to; if she takes a fancy to you, the affair is done."

"Oh! in that case, I have some chance of success. I accept; faith! yes, I accept; I will try the experiment; he who sows, reaps. Sapristi! no one can deny that we are sad rakes; I have several mistresses already, but the fair Plays tempts me."

"I give you my word that she is a very agreeable woman—pretty face, well built, solid as a rock! in short, everything that can tempt an amateur. If I had nothing else in my head just now, I would not have left her so quickly.—So it's a bargain. Now, I must give you the note you are to hand her. It is exactly like giving a letter of recommendation."

Little Tobie was enchanted; he laughed aloud, he walked with a swagger, and twirled his cane; in the extravagance of his delight, he seemed disposed to leap and turn somersaults on the boulevard; so that CÉlestin said to him:

"I say, young Pigeonnier, just calm down a bit; anyone would think, to see your insane joy, that you had never had a love affair."

"Oho! I have no lack of them, I assure you; I have my choice every day; but this will be such an amusing experience! Ha! ha! ha! to take another man's place! ha! ha! it is delicious!"

"There is nothing commoner than that; it's an old opÉra-comique idea. Now, messieurs, I propose that we dine together. We have begun the day well, we must finish it as well. We will dine at the Maison-DorÉe. Mouillot and Balivan will dine with us; they are two good fellows, as you know, and we shall find them at the Passage des Panoramas at half-past five; I have an appointment with them. Tobie does not meet his charmer until eight; so that he will have plenty of time to dine. Then we will have a little game of bouillotte at the restaurant, and Tobie will come back and tell us the result of his adventure."

"Good! I agree!" cried Albert; "especially as I have had hard luck lately at bouillotte. That Mouillot is a lucky devil; he always wins, and he owes me a terrible revenge.—Well, Tobie, doesn't the plan suit you? You often say: 'We must dine together, and have a little spree;' but when we try to fix a day, you never can. Here is a good chance, it seems to me. My dear fellow, if you want to succeed with Madame Plays, I warn you that you must act a little cavalierly."

Tobie seemed to hesitate for a moment, but at last he struck the ground with his cane and cried:

"Well, I accept! yes, let us dine together, and make the day complete! feasting! cards! women! that's my idea of life! Ah! what libertines we are!"

"Now, messieurs," said Albert, "we will step into the cafÉ on Passage de l'OpÉra, and I will write the note for Madame Plays; and I have another letter to write and send off before dinner."

"And so have I," said CÉlestin.

"And I," said Tobie; "I have an important errand to be done."

"Let us go, then."

The three young men entered the cafÉ at the corner of the boulevard and the Passage de l'OpÉra, and ordered writing materials, together with three glasses of madeira. Each of the three wrote very busily. Albert let his pen run over the paper, but it seemed not to travel fast enough to express the thoughts which thronged the mind of him who guided it. Monsieur CÉlestin de Valnoir wrote more slowly, but, from the expression of his face, it was evident that he was carefully considering his words. As for Tobie Pigeonnier, he wrote the least rapidly of the three, either because his ideas did not come readily, or because his subject was a difficult one to treat; he scratched his forehead, looked up at the ceiling, wrote two words, stopped, ran his hand through his hair, and began again; his letter caused him much toil, but he did not confine himself to a single one; after sealing the first, he at once began another. Albert and CÉlestin, who had finished theirs long before, said to him:

"Well, Pigeonnier, how many letters are you writing? will this be a long one?"

"One moment, messieurs; let me finish this one, I beg; it is very important. You see, in order to dine with you, I have to miss two most seductive appointments. The poor little women! they will be in despair, but, at all events, I shall not keep them waiting for me in the cold. Just a word of love, and I shall have finished."

"Parbleu! that's not hard to find. Put yours for life, and let it go at that."

"That is too common; I am going to write something different."

Monsieur Tobie finished his correspondence at last. Albert paid the waiter, and the three young men rose and left the cafÉ.

"The next thing is to send my letters," said Tobie.

"Oh! I have my regular messenger—Sans-Cravate," said Albert; "he is always at the corner of Rue du Helder, close by; let us go there."

"For my part," said CÉlestin, "I employ his comrade, Jean Ficelle; he's a very intelligent fellow. There's a third one, whose name is Paul, I think, who stands with them; he will do Tobie's errand."

"All right, messieurs," said Pigeonnier. "Let us go and find our messengers. By the way—how about my letter for the fair Herminie?"

"Faith! I forgot to write it; but we have time enough, I'll write it at the restaurant; we must hurry, it's five o'clock now."