remarked from time to time that she was tired; but, instead of replying, I would passionately squeeze one of her hands, and the heat of my love made her forget her fatigue. Unluckily, she lived with an old relation—of which sex I don't know; I do know that that fact made it impossible for me to go to her room, and I had to leave her at her door.

"The next evening, at dusk, we met again. I had the shrewdness to take her outside the barrier; it was a superb night, and we strolled along the new boulevards. I tried to coax her out into the country; she refused, on the ground that she was tired. She expected me to suggest a cab, no doubt, but I knew better.

"The next day, another rendezvous. My grisette wanted to go to the Jardin des Plantes. When we came to Pont d'Austerlitz, I had to spend two of my three sous, and for tolls, not for refreshment; that seemed cruel, but there was no alternative. We strolled a long while around the garden, which is an admirable place for lovers, because some of the paths are always deserted; my conquest was affable and sentimental, but I replied all awry to what she said and to the questions she asked. I was haunted by a secret apprehension; I was thinking about going home, about Pont d'Austerlitz, which she would certainly insist on crossing again, as it was the shortest way to her house; and I said to myself: 'I have only five centimes left. Shall I pay for her and let her go alone? Shall I make her take another route? Or shall I run across at full speed and defy the tollman?'—Neither plan seemed to promise well, and you can imagine that my mind was in a turmoil; so that my young companion kept saying to me:

"'What on earth are you thinking about, monsieur? You don't answer my questions; you seem to be thinking about something besides me. You're not very agreeable this evening.'

"I did my utmost to be talkative, attentive, and gallant; but, in a few minutes, my preoccupation returned. At last my grisette, irritated by my behavior, declared that she wanted to go home, that she was tired of walking, that I had walked her about so much the last two or three days that her heels were swollen as badly as when she used to have chilblains. So she dragged me away toward the exit. That was the decisive moment. I began to talk about going home another way that I knew about, which was much pleasanter than the way we had come. But my grisette took her turn at not listening, and when we were out of the garden, and I tried to lead her to the left, she hung back.

"'Why, where are you going?' she cried.

"'I assure you that it's much pleasanter and shorter by the other bridge.'

"'You're joking, I suppose! the idea of going back through narrow streets instead of the boulevards! Monsieur is making fun of me!'

"I couldn't possibly prevail upon her; she dropped my arm and made straight for the bridge.

"'Well!' I said to myself, with a sigh; 'there's nothing left for me to do.'

"I followed her. When she reached the tollman, I tossed my last sou on the table and said to my charmer:

"'Go on, I will follow you.'

"She crossed the bridge, supposing that some natural cause detained me a moment. Meanwhile, I gazed at the river, considering whether I would jump in and swim to the other bank. But I'm not a fine swimmer, and I did not feel as brave as Leander, although the Seine is narrower than the Hellespont. Instead of swimming, I ran along the quays to the next bridge; when I got there, I was almost out of breath, but that did not prevent me from running across the bridge, then back along the Seine to the beginning of Boulevard Bourdon. But that is quite a long distance, and, although I ran almost all the way, it took quite a long time. I arrived at last, but I looked in vain for my inamorata; I could not find her. Tired of waiting for me, or piqued by my failure to overtake her, she had evidently gone home alone.

"The next day, I went to our usual place of meeting, but she did not come. I waited there for her several days—to no purpose; and at last I wrote to her, requesting a reply. She sent me a very laconic one: 'You made a fool of me,' she wrote; 'and after walking my legs off for four days, as if I was an omnibus horse, you left me in the middle of a bridge. I've had enough of it, monsieur; you won't take me to walk any more.'—And thus that intrigue came to an end; for I never saw my grisette again; but I haven't forgotten the adventure. Let it serve you as a lesson, messieurs, if you should ever happen to find yourselves with only three sous in your pocket."

III

BLIND-MAN'S-BUFF.—AT THE WINDOWS.—IN A BALLOON

Dupréval's tale amused the company immensely. Monsieur Dumouton, who was better able, perhaps, than any of the rest of us, to understand our friend's plight, exclaimed:

"Oh! that's true! it's very dangerous to take any chances in a lady's company, if you haven't any money in your pocket! It's a thing I always avoid."

It was young Balloquet's turn. The bulky, fair-haired man opened his mouth as if he were going to sing an operatic aria, and began:

"Dupréval has just told us of an adventure which was not a bonne fortune, messieurs, for it didn't end happily for him; I propose to tell you of one that can fairly be called a genuine A-Number-One bonne fortune. It happened at a fête champêtre given by a friend of mine at his charming country place in the outskirts of Sceaux."

"Don't name the place," Monsieur Faisandé interrupted; "there's no need of it, and it might betray the originals of your story."

"Mon Dieu! Monsieur Faisandé, you seem to be terribly afraid of disclosures. Is it because you fear your excellent wife may be involved?"

The Treasury clerk turned as red as a poppy.

"I don't know why you indulge in jests of that sort, Monsieur Balloquet," he cried; "it's very bad taste, monsieur!"

"Then let me speak, monsieur, and don't keep putting your oar into our conversation; your mock-modest air doesn't deceive anybody. People who make such a show of decorum, and who are so strict in their language, are often greater libertines and rakes than those whose language they censure."

Monsieur Faisandé's cheeks changed from the hue of a poppy to that of a turnip; but he made no reply, and looked down at his plate, which led us to think that Balloquet had hit the mark. The latter resumed his story:

"As I was saying, I was at a magnificent open-air fête. There were some charming women there, and among them one with whom I had been in love a long while, but had been able to get no further than to whisper a burning word in her ear now and then; for she had a husband, who, while he was not jealous, was always at his wife's side. The dear man was very much in love with his wife, and bored her to death with his caresses. Sometimes he forgot himself so far as to kiss her before company, which was execrable form; and by dint of sentimentality and caresses he had succeeded in making himself insufferable to her. Yes, messieurs, this goes to prove what I said just now to Fouvenard: women don't like to be loved too much. Excess in any direction is a mistake. Moreover, nothing makes a man look so foolish as a superabundance of love. Well, while we were playing games and strolling about the gardens, Monsieur Three-Stars—I'll call him Three-Stars, which will not compromise anybody, I fancy—kissed his wife again before the whole company; and she flew into a rage and made a scene with him, forbidding him to come near her again during the evening. The fond husband was in despair, and cudgelled his brains to think of some means of becoming reconciled to his wife. After long consideration, he took me by the arm and said:

"'My dear Monsieur Balloquet, I believe I have found what I was looking for.'

"'Have you lost something?' said I.

"'You don't understand. I am trying to think of some way to compel my wife to let me