expenditure of some little time and trouble. I determined to follow madame’s carriage—not on foot; that would be too fatiguing! it might do if she were in a cab; but with private horses—why, I should have inflammation of the lungs! I spied a cabriolet, which was just what I wanted. The other carriage was driving away, so I lost no time.

“Hi, cocher!”

“Get in, monsieur.”

“I am in.”

“Where are we going, bourgeois?”

“Follow that carriage just ahead of us, and you shall have a good pourboire.”

The rascal did not need it; I saw that he was already tipsy. I wished then that I had taken another, but it was too late to change. He lashed his emaciated horse with all his strength; the infernal beast broke into a gallop of desperation, and sometimes outstripped the private carriage.

“Look out!” I said to my driver; “don’t whip it so hard; let’s not have an accident.”

“Don’t you be afraid, bourgeois, I know my business; you see, I haven’t been driving a cab twenty years without finding out what driving means. You’re with some friends in the green fiacre yonder; very good! I propose to have you get there ahead of ’em.”

“But I did not tell you that I was with anybody; I want you to follow that carriage; if you pass it, how can you follow it?”

“I tell you, bourgeois, that they’re a-following us; I’ll show ’em that my horse is worth two of theirs. When Belotte’s waked up, there’s no stopping her.”

“Morbleu! you go too fast! We have passed the carriage; where is it now?”

“Ah! they’re trying to catch up with us; but the coachman’s mad. I’m driving you all right, bourgeois.”

“But stop—stop, I tell you!”

“Have we got there?”

“Yes, yes! we’ve got there.”

“Damme! you see, Belotte’s got her second wind, and she’s a good one to go, I tell you. Ho! ho! here you are, master. Where shall I knock?”

“Nowhere.”

“Ha! ha! not a sign of a fiacre anywhere! Didn’t I tell you that you’d arrive ahead of the others? You see, it’s a whim of mine to pass everything on the road.”

I alighted from the cabriolet and looked all about; no sign of a carriage; we had lost it. I was frantic; and I had to listen to the appeals of my drunken driver, who wanted his pourboire. I was tempted to break his whip over his back; but I restrained myself and adopted the quickest method, which was to pay him and dismiss him.

“When you want a good driver and a good horse, bourgeois, I’m your man, you see; you’ll always find me on Place Taitbout, near Torchoni’s—in the swell quarter. Ask for François; I’m as well known as the clown.”

“All right; I’ll remember.”

The villain drove away at last, and I was left alone in a street which was entirely unfamiliar to me. It was getting late, and, as I had no desire to pass the night walking the streets, I tried to discover my whereabouts! After walking some distance I found myself at a spot which I recognized; I was on Rue des Martyrs, near the Montmartre barrier. Luckily, I lived on Rue Saint-Florentin, and to get there I had simply to walk down the hill. So I started, reflecting as I walked. It was a fitting occasion for reflection, and I had plenty of time. But my reverie was again interrupted by outcries. As the Quartier des Porcherons is not frequented by the most select society, and as I was nowise inclined to seek a third adventure at the Grand Salon, I quickened my pace, in order to avoid unpleasant encounters.

But the noise continued; I heard cries and oaths and blows. Women were calling for the police, the magistrate, and all the constituted authorities of the quarter; men were pushing and striking one another and throwing one another into the gutter. Windows were thrown open, and heads appeared enveloped in nightcaps; they listened and laughed and conversed from window to window, asking what the trouble was; but they refrained from going down into the street, because it is not prudent to meddle in a quarrel after dark.

The open windows and the faces surmounted by nightcaps reminded me of my little mishap on Rue des Rosiers. I no longer walked, but flew! fancying that I was pursued by fatality. But I heard someone running behind me; I turned into a street to the right; the footsteps followed me. At last I stopped to recover my breath, and in a moment my pursuer overtook me and grasped my arm.

III

THE FLOWER GIRL

“O monsieur! save me! take me with you! protect me from that horrible Beauvisage, who swore he’d take me away from anyone. Just hear how he’s beating Cadet Finemouche, who’s a good fighter himself! My sister was no fool; she skipped as soon as the fists began to play, and left me to carry the whole thing on my back; and perhaps she’ll go and tell my mother bad stories about me! I haven’t anybody but you to help me, monsieur; if you won’t, I’m a lost girl.”

While my waylayer recited her story, pausing only to wipe away the tears with the back of her hand, I looked at my new acquaintance and tried to distinguish her features by the dim light of a street lamp.

Her language and her dress speedily informed me what manner of person I had to deal with: a loose red gown, caught in at the waist with a black velvet scarf; a round cap with a broad lace border; a colored neckerchief, tied in front, with a large cross à la Jeannette resting upon it. Mistake in this instance was impossible: it was perfectly evident that I had before me a marchande à éventaire,[A] or one of those hucksters whose booths surround the cemetery of the Innocents.

My first thought was to see if she was pretty; I found that she was very good-looking indeed. Her eyes, although filled with tears, had a sincere, innocent expression which made her interesting at first sight; her little pout, her grieved air, were softened now and then by a smile addressed to me; and that smile, which the most accomplished coquette could not have made more attractive, disclosed two rows of the whitest teeth, unspoiled by enamel, coral, and all the powders of the perfumer.

However, despite my new acquaintance’s beauty, I was very reluctant to retain her arm, which she had passed through mine. Surely, with such charming features, she could not deal in fish or meat. I was morally certain that she sold flowers; but I did not choose to take a flower girl for my mistress; at the most, I might, if a favorable opportunity offered, indulge in a whim, a fancy. But I was not in luck that evening, and I did not propose to try any more experiments. I determined to rid myself of the girl.

As gently as possible, I detached the arm that was passed through mine; then I assumed a cold expression and said:

“I am very sorry that I am unable to do what you wish; but I do not know you; the dispute between Monsieur Beauvisage and Cadet Finemouche doesn’t concern me. Your sister ran away, and you had better do the same. Your mother may think what she pleases, it is all one to me. It is after twelve o’clock; I have been walking about the streets long enough, and I am going home to bed.”

“What, monsieur! you refuse! you are going to leave me! Think of refusing to go a little out of your way to help a