you didn’t want to leave your country, eh?”

“Oh! I would have been glad to go with madame, but she didn’t choose to take me!”

“And she left you like that, without getting another place for you—a girl of your age, who took such good care of her little ones? Ah! that isn’t right, that isn’t. That mistress of yours can’t be good for much!—But what are you doing now, my child?”

“I am looking for another place, madame, but I haven’t found it yet. Luckily I saved money at my mistress’s; I earned a hundred francs a year!”

“Is that all? Well, upon my word! she wasn’t very generous, that mistress of yours!”

“Oh! I had quite enough; I didn’t spend anything except to dress myself; and now I have some clothes and sixty francs of my own; I spend so little to live; I get along with five or six sous a day.”

“Poor child! In that case, you’re not much of a glutton; why, you must live on bread and water.”

“I beg pardon, I have a sou’s worth of milk every morning; bread dipped in milk is so good!”

“Bless my soul! It is good for those who like milk! But no matter, that diet will soon take away your fresh color. I say, you must be very fond of flowers to look at them so long, as if you wanted to kiss them!”

“Flowers! oh! I am mad over them, madame, I am never tired of gazing at them.”

“So, so! and how would you like to sell them, to make bouquets as I do?”

“Make bouquets! live among flowers! you ask me if I would like that? Oh, madame! that would be the happiest life for me. It seems to me that one has nothing more to wish for when one is a flower girl!”

“Well, my child, sit down here, by my side. I am alone, I have no children, and no one depending on me; I am beginning not to be so smart as I used to be; if you choose to stay with me and always be as good—as—as you were when you took the two little girls to walk, why, I will keep you, I will give you part of my profits; in fact, I will make a flower girl of you; does that suit you?”

“Does it suit me,—to be a flower girl! such a pleasant trade! Is it really true, madame? You are not making fun of me?”

“As true as my name is Mère Gazon; and yours?”

“My name is Violette.”

“Violette! You see you were destined to be a flower girl.”

So Violette took her place beside Mère Gazon; and she was so pleased with the skill and taste with which the girl made her bouquets, that she congratulated herself every day upon having taken her into her employ.

Violette reached the age of fifteen, sixteen, and became so pretty and her figure assumed such graceful proportions that people began to notice the young flower girl, and Mère Gazon’s business constantly increased. Then came the lady-killers, the oglers, the gallants, who tried to make love to Violette, but she did not listen to them, or at all events paid no heed to what they said. Moreover, Mère Gazon was there and said to those who paid her companion compliments:

“For heaven’s sake, let the child alone! You see well enough that you bother her with your fine words, without head or tail! Go and get your hair curled, that would be better.”

But one night, Mère Gazon, who had rather abused currant brandy, which she adored as a cordial, felt an oppression that compelled her to keep her bed. The next day she was worse, and she said to her young companion:

“My dear Violette, I believe I am going to pack up and not open shop any more. I leave you all I have; my stock, my flowers, my furniture, my customers. Always be honest and virtuous, don’t let anyone cajole you and I have an idea that you will prosper. If I myself had been more prudent with currant brandy, I might have kept shop much longer! but never mind! that’s a small matter! I am glad, at all events, to have you with me to close my eyes.”

That is Violette’s whole story; that is how the little girl abandoned by her parents had become a flower girl.

III

GEORGET AND CHICOTIN

“We would like a magnificent bouquet, mademoiselle,” said Madame Glumeau to Violette.

“Yes,” said Mademoiselle Eolinde, “a su—su—superb bou—bou——”

“That isn’t all,” said Monsieur Astianax, doing his utmost to look at the pretty flower girl with both eyes at once. “I wish to express a certain meaning in presenting a bouquet to my father, so that the flowers must interpret my meaning; I would like a selam, mademoiselle; give me a selam.”

Violette stared at him as she replied:

“I don’t know that flower, monsieur; does it grow in boxes or in pots?”

“A selam is not a single flower, mademoiselle; it is an arrangement of flowers, which means something particular; it’s an oriental bouquet.”

“I have no oriental flowers, monsieur.”

“But you don’t catch my meaning, I mean——”

“Upon my word, Astianax, you are insufferable; you will keep us here two hours when you know that we are in a hurry; select yourself the flowers that you want, and she will make them into a bouquet for you.”

Monsieur Astianax, confused by the flower girl’s lovely eyes, turned very red and began to rummage among the flowers on the counter, stammering:

“But I don’t see—I am looking—I don’t find—I would like—haven’t you got any?”

“Tell me what flowers you want, monsieur; that will be better than upsetting my whole stock.”

But the little fellow could not admire the pretty flower girl enough, and he had no idea what he wanted.

The porter who had in his arms the box with the pomegranate, which was very heavy, and the rosebush, which was not light, said to Madame Glumeau:

“If you’re going to be here long, lady, I am going to get a basket to put these things in.”

“Oh, no! it isn’t worth while, messenger; we are going at once.—Well, my son, have you chosen your flowers?”

“I don’t find what I am looking for.”

“Bless my soul! Eolinde, is not that Cousin Michonnard, standing over there?”

“Yes, yes, mamma, it is she.”

“Ah! if she sees us, we are lost; she will follow us wherever we go; we shall not be able to get rid of her, for she is quite capable of inviting herself to dinner. You know that your father doesn’t like her because she always says that he doesn’t look well. Let’s go along at once before she sees us.—Come, Astianax.”

“But my dear mother, I haven’t any bouquet.”

“It is your own fault, you take too long to decide. You can present your father with a Savoy cake with his monogram, that will be just as respectful. Come, come!—Follow us, messenger.”

And this time, without listening to the remonstrances of her son, who declared that a cake did not express his meaning, the stout lady took his arm and dragged him away, but not until the little fellow had darted a random glance in Violette’s direction. In a few moments the Glumeau family had disappeared.

Thereupon, a young man in a blouse, with a cap on his head, and with a shrewd, clever face and a slender figure which denoted sixteen years at most, although he was past seventeen, began to laugh as he looked at the pretty flower girl, beside whom he had stopped, and said to her:

“Well, my word! there’s customers for you! They come here and handle and move your flowers and spoil them, and then go away without buying anything.”

“Dear me, Monsieur Georget, that’s the way it is in business; one can’t always sell.”

“But the young man would have liked to stay, I fancy. What eyes he made at you, zigzag! A man shouldn’t be allowed to squint like that! I am sure it would exempt him from the conscription; for when a man looks all ways at once, he can hardly fire straight at the