Chapter II: The Milliner.--Robineau’s Toilet

Robineau arrived at last at his modest restaurant, the public rooms of which were, as usual, full of people; for small purses are more common than large fortunes; which does not mean that only the wealthy frequent the best restaurants. But one thing is certain, namely, that at thirty-two sou places, the patrons eat with heartier appetites than one sometimes has in the gilded salons of the others. As bread is supplied in unlimited quantities, the consumers do not stint themselves with respect to it; and the cry of: "Some bread, waiter!" is heard constantly from every part of the room.

Robineau, who, under ordinary circumstances, was not of the number of small eaters, had less appetite than usual on this day; he swallowed his soup without complaining that it was too clear or too salt, to the waiter’s great surprise; and when the latter inquired what he wished to eat after the soup, Robineau replied:

"Whatever you please, but make haste. I am in a great hurry. I am going to the Baron de Marcey’s this evening, and I must dress with great care."

"In that case, monsieur, a beefsteak and potatoes," said the waiter, who cared very little whether his customer was going to a baron’s that evening, while Robineau looked about with an air of importance to see whether anyone had noticed what he had just said, and whether people were looking at him with more respect. But to no purpose did he cast his eyes over the neighboring tables; the persons who surrounded him were too busily occupied in putting out of sight what was on their plates, to amuse themselves staring at their neighbors; a thirty-two sou restaurant is not the place in which to put on airs.

Robineau, seeing that no one paid any attention to him, although he mentioned the baron’s name once more, hastened to eat the three courses which followed the soup. When the waiter came with the dessert, which consisted of nuts and raisins, Robineau’s customary order, the clerk sprang to his feet, and, placing his portfolio under his arm, left the table, saying to the waiter:

"That’s for you; it’s your _pourboire_."

Then he walked hurriedly through the dining-room, elbowing such customers as stood in his path, who grumbled at his lack of ceremony; while the waiter looked with a wry face at the nuts and raisins which were bestowed upon him as _pourboire_.

Robineau hastened to Rue Saint-Honoré, where his lodgings were situated. As he drew near the house, the ground floor of which was occupied by a milliner’s shop, he slackened his pace and his eyes seemed to try to pierce the yellow silk curtains which concealed the shop girls from the eyes of passers-by.

"The devil!" muttered Robineau; "it’s only six o’clock, and Fifine isn’t ready to leave the shop. But I am in extreme need of her assistance. If that thoughtless Alfred had written me a few days beforehand, I might have prepared for his grand reception, and I should have everything that I need. These rich people never remember that other people aren’t rich!--I don’t know whether I have a white waistcoat to wear, and silk stockings.--Have I any silk stockings?--Mon Dieu! I lent them to Fifine the last night we went to the theatre, and she hasn’t returned them yet. That woman will end by stripping me of everything! I am too generous. But if she has worn holes in them I’ll make a terrible scene!--With fifteen hundred francs a year, when one has to feed and lodge oneself, and when one wishes to cut some figure in society, one cannot swim in silk stockings--it’s impossible!--and with all the rest, I have had no luck at écarté for some time past. Mon Dieu! when shall I be rich?--I certainly will not put on airs then; I will be neither haughty nor insolent. But at all events, when I receive an invitation to go into the best society, I shall not be driven to expedients to procure silk stockings."

While indulging in these reflections, Robineau had arrived in front of the shop; but the door was closed. To be sure, the curtains afforded a glimpse of the lower part of a face, an arm, or a profile; but there were six young women who worked in the shop; and when the mistress was present they kept their eyes on their work and did not attempt to look out of the windows. Robineau passed the door and decided to enter the passageway leading to his rooms, at the end of which was a door opening into the back shop. He walked to and fro for some time, coughing loudly when he was near the door at the end, and glancing impatiently at his silver watch, which he carried in his fob, at the end of a dainty blue ribbon of watered silk passed about his neck.

All six of the young women who worked in the milliner’s shop slept in the house; two in a room adjoining the mistress’s apartment, and the other four in a room on the fifth floor, above Robineau’s. Mademoiselle Fifine was one of the four. Robineau was well aware that, in order to go to her room, Fifine must pass through the passageway; but she did not ordinarily go up until nine o’clock, and he could not wait until that hour to speak to the girl. Much the simplest way would have been to go into the shop and ask Mademoiselle Fifine to step outside for a moment; but that would have meant an irrevocable quarrel with his fair one; for, like all milliner’s apprentices, Fifine had her own code of morals; if she had lovers, it was only because all her companions had their pleasant little acquaintances, and because they would have made fun of her if she too had not had someone to take her out to walk on Sunday. But during the week, madame--that was the title that they bestowed on the mistress of the establishment--was very strict with her young ladies, and she was responsible for their virtue from eight in the morning till nine at night.

After coughing vainly in the passage, Robineau decided to go up to his room, in order to put away his portfolio and make preparations for his toilet. He climbed the four flights of a dark and dusty staircase, of a type not uncommon on Rue Saint-Honoré; he entered his apartment, which consisted of two small rooms, one of which served as waiting-room, wardrobe and kitchen, the other as bedroom, dressing-room and salon. The first was scantily furnished, but the second was decorated with more or less taste, and it was orderly and clean; in fact, everything was in its place--a rare thing in a bachelor’s quarters.

Robineau opened one of the drawers of his commode, took out his black dress coat and his dancing trousers, and to his delight, found a spotlessly white piqué waistcoat. He spread them all on the bed, then looked at himself complacently in the mirror over the mantel; and his mirror showed him, as usual, a coarse, bloated face, small black eyes, a large round nose, a small mouth, a low forehead, very thick light hair, and thin, compressed lips. Robineau considered it a charming face; he smiled at himself, assumed affected poses, bowed to himself, and exclaimed:

"I am very good-looking, and in full-dress I ought to produce a great effect."

After looking at himself in the mirror for several minutes, he returned to his commode, fumbled in the drawers, turned everything upside down, and cried:

"Evidently I have no silk stockings. If worse comes to worst, I might buy a pair--I still have twenty-three francs left from my month’s pay; but that would straiten me; if I want to risk a little at écarté, I can’t do it. I know well enough that if I should ask Alfred to lend me money, he wouldn’t refuse; but I don’t want to appear to be short, and, in truth, as I have some very fine silk stockings, I don’t see why I should buy others. Mademoiselle Fifine simply must return them; if not, it’s all over, we are out, and I give her no more guitar lessons. She will think twice; a girl doesn’t find every day a lover who plays the guitar and who is obliging enough to teach his sweetheart how to play."

Robineau took down a guitar that hung in a corner of the room, went to the open window looking on the courtyard, and hummed a ballad, accompanying himself on the instrument. When Fifine was in her room on the fifth floor, the guitar was ordinarily the signal which notified her that Robineau awaited her; but it was hardly possible to hear the music in the shop.

After he had sung for some time, Robineau looked again at his watch; he stamped the floor impatiently and was about to go down to the passage, when someone rang at his door.

"It is she! She must have heard me!" he cried as he ran to open the door. But instead of his charmer, he found a young solicitor’s clerk, whom he knew as the friend of one of Fifine’s shopmates.

"Have they come up?" inquired the young man, not entering the room, but simply thrusting his head forward to look.

"What do you mean? have who come up?"

"The young ladies. I simply must speak to Thénaïs; I went up to their room at all risks and knocked; no one answered, but, as I came down, I heard your guitar; and knowing that you gave lessons to Mademoiselle Fifine, I thought that they were in your room."

"Alas, no! they are still in the shop; they won’t come up for a good hour at least; it is most annoying to me, for I have something very important to ask Fifine."

"Well! isn’t there any way to let them know that we are here?"

"Oh! if we should go to the shop, they would be angry; it’s expressly forbidden; and then I don’t care to do it myself; when one is in one of the departments of the government, one has to maintain a certain decorum; especially just now, we have to be moral; the rules are very strict on that point."

"We can get the young ladies to come out without going to the shop."

"Faith! it’s an hour since I came in, and began trying to think of a way to do it."

"Wait! I am never at a loss.--There’s no concierge in this house, is there?"

"No."

"So much the better--we can do what we please.--Have you two or three plates?"

"Plates? hardly; I very rarely eat in my room."

"No matter--a salad-bowl, a vase, anything you please."

Robineau looked in his buffet and returned with a porcelain preserve dish and one plate, saying:

"These are all I can find."

"Excellent," said the solicitor’s clerk, taking the two objects.

"What do you propose to do with them?"

"You will see; follow me, and shout as I do, with all your lungs, when we are near the shop."

The young man went slowly down stairs, holding the plate in one hand and the preserve dish in the other. Robineau followed, curious to see what he was going to do. When they reached the first floor, the clerk began to shout: "Stop thief!" and Robineau followed suit. Then the young man hurled the plate into the passage; whereupon Robineau ran after him to stop him.

"The devil!" he exclaimed, "that will do; don’t throw my preserve dish!"

But it was too late; the dish had already followed the plate; it broke into a thousand pieces, and at the crash all the young women rushed from the shop to inquire what was going on.

At sight of them, the solicitor’s clerk roared with laughter.

"I knew that I’d make you leave your work," he cried.

"Oh! it was a sell!" cried the shop-girls, with a laugh, while Robineau gazed sadly at the ruins of his preserve dish and murmured:

"Yes, it’s a very pretty scheme! But I won’t entrust any more of my dishes to this fellow."

The girls laughed uproariously; the young clerk was already talking with Mademoiselle Thénaïs, and Robineau was about to approach Fifine, when there was a cry of "Here’s madame!" whereupon the young milliners vanished like a flock of swallows, and the young men were once more alone in the passage.

"Well! now they have gone back again!" said Robineau.

"I told Thénaïs what I wanted to tell her," replied the other; and he left the house, enchanted with his ruse, while Robineau, who was minus a plate and preserve dish, and had not even spoken to Fifine, went upstairs to his room, consigning clerks and milliners to the devil. He arranged once more all the component parts of his costume, and had almost determined to go out to buy some silk stockings, when he heard two little taps at his door, and Mademoiselle Fifine appeared at last.

Fifine was a buxom, jovial wench of twenty-four, whose coloring was a little high, whose fair hair was of rather a doubtful shade, whose eyes were a little too prominent, and whose figure was a little too short; but there was a touch of decision in her manner which indicated a young woman of character, whom one might have taken for a roisterer, had she worn trousers.

"Well! what’s in the wind, my friend? What’s all this business of smashing dishes in order to see us? Dieu! what extravagance indeed! The girls called that very gallant!"

As she spoke, Fifine threw herself on a couch opposite the bed, and continued to eat cherries, which she carried in a handkerchief.

"If you think that it was an invention of mine, you are much mistaken!" rejoined Robineau sourly; "it was that little clerk, who, without a word to me--Don’t throw your stones all over my room, I beg you."

"I’ll sweep your room! Mon Dieu! Monsieur Neatness! Pray take care! he would rather have me swallow the stones, no matter what the result might be--eh, my dear friend?--What on earth is the matter with you to-night, Raoul? your nose is longer than usual; have you some secret trouble?"

"Oh! it’s nothing to laugh at."

"Well, I’m not inclined to cry. If you want me to cry, play me an act of melodrama; play me Monsieur Truguelin in _Cœlina_. When you come to the suicide, I’ll throw a cherry-stone at you."

"Come, Fifine, let us talk sense, I beg you."

"Come then and sit down beside me, so that I can pinch you. You see, I feel tremendously like pinching something to-night."

"I have no time to fool."

"Dieu! how agreeable this lover of mine is!"

"I am going to a reception this evening at my intimate friend Alfred de Marcey’s, son of the Baron de Marcey, who has nearly a hundred thousand francs a year."

"Ah! so that’s the reason one can’t look you in the face, and the reason you threw your dishes downstairs. Exactly! when one visits a baron, one shouldn’t eat next day. You’ve grown two inches already."

"Fifine, listen to me, I entreat you!"

"Are you going to cry?"

"To go to the Baron de Marcey’s, I must wear full evening dress."

"Ah! I see what you’re coming at--you want me to put on your curl-papers."

"Curl-papers--I shall be glad if you will, it is true; for you do it to perfection."

"Ah! the lion is quieting down!"

"But there is something else of which I am in urgent need, and that is my black silk stockings, which I lent you the last Sunday that it rained."

"Your silk stockings?"

"Yes, mademoiselle."

"The deuce! but they’re a long way off, if they’re still going!"

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that I lent them to Fœdora, to play in private theatricals, and she admitted that she let her best friend wear them the next day, to a wedding; but as his calves are exceptionally big, he ripped a few stitches when he took them off."

"Mon Dieu! this is what comes of lending your things!"

"Is a person to presume that her lover will ask her to return what he lends her?"

"Mademoiselle, I am not a capitalist, a dealer in novelties. I have never pretended to play the _grand seigneur_ with you."

"Oh! anyone can see that!--Catch it, Raoul."

"Don’t throw cherry-stones at me, please.--What am I to do? It’s eight o’clock already; to be sure, I know that people go very late to large receptions."

"Sometimes they don’t go till the next day; it’s more _comme il faut_."

"But I counted on those stockings."

"You must buy some more; there’s a place across the street where they sell them."

"Buy some? Oh, yes! that’s very easy to say.--You shouldn’t have made me spend twelve francs at the restaurant last Sunday."

"We will spend fifteen next Sunday, my dear friend."

"You always want to eat the things that cost most."

"Nothing’s too good for me."

"Well, if I buy stockings, it’s adieu to our country excursion for Sunday, I warn you."

"That begins to move me.--Come, be calm, _loulou_; you’re very lucky to have a sweetheart with some imagination. Stay here and begin to dress at the top; I’ll go to look after the lower part!"[1]

"Oh! my dear Fifine, how good you will be to do that!"

"Give me five or six sheets of note paper--vellum."

"Here they are; as it happens, I have just brought some home from my office. Do you want some sealing-wax--three sticks?"

"Yes, yes, give it to me; I secure madame’s good graces with these things; otherwise she wouldn’t have let me come away so early; but I said that I had a sick-headache, and as I’m her favorite, she said: ‘Go upstairs to bed.’"

Fifine took the paper and sealing-wax, and skipped out of Robineau’s room; whereupon he began to undress, saying to himself:

"She is really an excellent girl, and as bright as a button, this Fifine! She’s a little hasty, and a bit of a glutton; but still she is mad over me and would jump into the fire for me. She has refused marquises, beet-sugar manufacturers and brokers for me; and yet I simply take her out on Sundays--that’s all. She isn’t like Monsieur Edouard’s sempstress, who left him for an Englishman.--Ha! ha! I am not so very sorry, for he seems rather inclined to put on airs. He has about three thousand francs a year, I believe; that’s not so much! But he writes plays, opéra-comiques, vaudevilles--that is to say, fragments of vaudevilles.--Mon Dieu! if I had the time, I would write plays, too; and I flatter myself they’d be done rather better than his. But when a man has to be at his desk from nine o’clock till four, and always working, how is he to cultivate the Muses? When I am chief of a bureau, or even deputy chief, then it will be different--I shall have some time to myself. That Alfred’s the lucky fellow! An only son, his father a baron, and about a hundred thousand francs a year!--And just see how it all came about: Alfred lost his mother when he was very young; his father married again some years later, and might have had other children; but he didn’t; instead of that, his wife, whom he adored, died three years after their marriage, and the baron, overwhelmed with grief by the loss of his second wife, swore that he would never marry again; and he has kept his oath, although he is still a young man.--How well it has all turned out for Alfred! Dieu! nothing like that will ever happen to me! And yet I have an uncle somewhere or other, careering round the world, according to what my mother told me before she died; an uncle who was determined to make his fortune, and who started for the Indies, or Peru--in fact, no one knows where. But psha! he has probably tried to leap Niagara! It’s only on the stage that uncles arrive just in time for the dénouement, in order to save innocence from going to prison. After all, I am not ambitious--I’m a philosopher, I am satisfied with what I have. If I had some silk stockings, though, I should be even better satisfied. But just let a fortune fall into my hands, and people will see how coolly, how phlegmatically I will receive it.--Well! here I am all undressed, and Mademoiselle Fifine doesn’t return.--I can’t put on my cravat before my feet are shod and my hair curled. Luckily it’s July, and I shan’t take cold."

To kill time, Robineau, being weary of walking about his room dressed like a person who is about to make bread, concluded to take his guitar. He had reached the second stanza of the romanza from _Bélisaire_, when he was interrupted by a burst of laughter. Fifine, having left the door ajar, had entered the room without making any noise, and was holding her sides as she contemplated Belisarius in his shirt.

"O Dieu! how handsome you are like that, my boy!" she said, still laughing; "I am tempted to call the girls to look at the picture."

"Call no one, I beg; although, without flattery, I believe I have a figure that wouldn’t frighten them."

"You look like a fat Bacchus."

"Let me see the stockings, please."

"Here they are, troubadour; and I think that they’ll make a handsome leg."

And Fifine tossed a pair of black silk stockings on Robineau’s knee. He examined them for some time, then cried:

"They’re a woman’s stockings!"

"To be sure, as it was Adeline who lent them to me."

"Men don’t wear openwork things like these."

"Bah! men wear something else, and it doesn’t prevent their dancing."

"But----"

"But these are all I could find, and it seems to me that you ought to be well satisfied."

Robineau concluded at last to put on the stockings.

"They’ll think that it’s a new style I am trying to introduce," he said.

While he began to dress, Fifine took the guitar and hummed a tune.

"So I shan’t have any lesson to-night, my friend?"

"You must see, my dear, that it’s impossible.--They fit me very well, these stockings--exceedingly well--it’s surprising! I have a leg that adapts itself to anything."

"By the way, do you remember the way we behaved last night?--Well! we had a most extraordinary scene! You know madame won’t let us read in bed, because she’s afraid of fire."

"She is quite right; as to that, I agree with her."

"That’s all right, but we girls don’t care a fig for her orders. Last night, after Fœdora had dictated a note to Thénaïs, and when Adeline had finished telling us how she detected her lover’s treachery--Oh! by the way, I never told you that story; it’s terribly funny!"

"My dear, if you would be good enough to put on my curl-papers now, I should----"

"The iron isn’t hot yet; it’s on the stove upstairs; no matter--give me some tissue paper, I’ll arrange you."

"Put on fifteen."

"Why not thirty-six, like another Ninon?--Look out now, don’t move!--Just imagine that Fidélio--that’s Adeline’s lover’s name--has a business agency office, and always keeps pretty little maid servants, who, they say, he’s in the habit of making love to. It’s so well known in the quarter, that they always tell a girl of it beforehand when she enters his service, so that she may know what to expect----"

"The iron----"

"Nonsense! don’t bother me with your iron!--Adeline didn’t know all that. The rascal had introduced himself to her under a false name. Ah! what villains men are! Instead of putting on curl-papers for you, I ought to tear all your hairs out, one by one!"

"Fifine--I beg you----"

"Don’t move.--But that isn’t all: Monsieur Fidélio, not satisfied with having a pretty blonde of twenty in his service, was making love to a married woman; and this married woman, it seems----"

"You are pulling my hair!"

"Oh! that, you know, is very bad! That a woman who is free should do what she pleases--that’s all right. But one either is bound or one isn’t--that’s all I know; that is to say, unless the husband’s a tyrant or a miser."

"It’s after nine o’clock, Fifine!"

"What’s the odds? you will have time enough to make conquests.--Now then, the servant noticed that the lady came very often to see Fidélio on business, and that Fidélio, instead of being pleasant with his maid, as he usually was, did nothing but scold her. But one can be a servant and still have lively passions; such things have been known. To revenge herself, the girl goes one fine day to the lady’s husband and offers to make him a witness of a meeting between his wife and her man of business. The husband was frantic; he accepted, sent for a cab, and got in with the little blonde, who was to tell the driver to stop at the proper time. But on the way--and this is the funniest part of it!--the husband began to find the little maid much to his liking and proposed to transfer his passion to her.--‘We are both deceived,’ says he; ‘let’s take our revenge together.’--She didn’t take to that scheme; she resisted and the man persisted. Tired of being urged by him,--he had entirely forgotten his wife,--she told the coachman to stop, opened the door, and jumped out of the cab. The gentleman jumped after her and broke his nose on the ground. The girl, to escape his attentions, entered the first house she came to. It happened to be ours; and who do you suppose she found in the passage?--who but Fidélio colloguing with Adeline!--Then there was an explosion, explanation, confusion, and----"

"The iron must be red hot!"

"I’ll go and fetch it; but if it isn’t hot, I won’t come down again."

Robineau looked at himself in the mirror, saying:

"When Fifine is in the mood for chattering, there’s no way to stop her. But she puts on curl-papers like an angel; I shall have the best dressed hair at the ball."

Fifine returned, carrying the curling-iron, smoking hot.

"Come quick; it isn’t too hot."

"It looks all red to me. My dear love, be careful not to burn me, I beseech you."

"Dieu! he’s a perfect little lamb when he’s frightened!--To return to our scene of last night: we had just gone to bed, and I was reading--because, without flattering myself, I am the best reader. Auguste had lent us the _Barons von Felsheim_, and we were devouring it--that is the word--when, in the middle of a charming chapter, someone knocked at our door, and we heard madame’s voice calling:--‘Mesdemoiselles, why have you a light burning so late?’--At that the most profound silence replaced our bursts of laughter, and to hide the light,--for we didn’t propose to put it out--it occurred to me to put a vessel--you know, a night vessel,--over the candle-stick. That worked very well; she couldn’t see anything. Madame called again, and we didn’t answer. Then madame went away; and when we thought she was back in her room, I took off the protecting vessel.--What do you suppose? The light was really out. We were in despair; we didn’t feel like sleeping, and we didn’t want to be left in the middle of a very interesting chapter, in which there’s something about truffles--and not a match, because we haven’t as yet saved up a sufficient sum to purchase that commodity, for milliner’s apprentices aren’t in the habit of patronizing savings banks. However, we were determined to have a light, and for my own part, I would have gone out and unhooked the street lantern rather than not finish my chapter. Just at that moment we heard your guitar and your voice. Ah! my dear, you have no idea of the effect that produced on us! You were an Orpheus, a demigod!--‘Not in bed yet!’ we shouted all together, and in an instant I was out of bed; I put on the petticoat of modesty, because love of reading shouldn’t carry one so far as to go about naked, and I ran to the door and opened it; but I hadn’t taken two steps on the landing when I felt someone seize my arm, and madame, who was watching at the door, cried:

"‘Aha! so this is the way you sleep, mesdemoiselles! But I propose to find out who it is that dares to leave the room in spite of my orders--to light her candle, I suppose.--I knew too much to make any answer. Madame called to Julie to come up with a light. I got away from her; and while she stood in the doorway to keep me from going back, I ran down to her apartment, put out the candles, and threw the matches out of the window. So madame couldn’t find out who it was that came out, and we passed the time feeling around for each other.--There! your hair’s all done, my friend."

"Thank God!--I remember that you made noise enough.--I must wait till they’re cold before I take them off.--Fifine! you’re a perfect devil! But no matter--I love you sincerely, and if I should ever be rich like Alfred----"

"Ah! then we should see some fine things, shouldn’t we?"

"Yes; you would see--In the first place, wealth wouldn’t make me any different; it’s so absurd to be proud and self-satisfied just because one has a few more yellow boys in one’s pocket! Does it increase one’s merit? I ask you that, Fifine?"

"It is certain that if you were a millionaire, your eyes wouldn’t be any larger."

"Bah! unkind girl! they are large enough to admire you.--Oh! stop that!"

"I have never heard you speak of this Alfred, whose party you are going to."

"He’s a boarding-school friend; he always used to play leap-frog with me. Since then, we have rather lost sight of each other; he is always in his carriage or in the saddle, and I go on foot."

"That’s better for the health."

"Well, with all his fortune Alfred is bored. Anyone can see that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He is weary of pleasure; and then, he’s a rake, a libertine, a man incapable of true love."

"For a friend of yours, you give him a pretty character!"

"A friend of mine! oh! simply a boarding-school acquaintance, I tell you."

"Is he good-looking?"

"Yes, rather; that is to say, an ordinary face, but already worn and lined."

"Introduce him to me."

Robineau rose with an offended air and went to the mirror to remove his curl-papers.

"If I knew that he would make you happy, mademoiselle," he said, "I certainly would not hesitate! But I doubt if you would find in Alfred the profound and sincere affection which I feel for you."

"Dieu! my friend, how you do adore me to-night!"

"Because I’ve no carriage, you talk jestingly of abandoning me. But just let me get wealthy, and my only revenge will be to give you a magnificent country house."

"You must supply it with rabbits, understand, because I am very fond of rabbit stew. But meantime, while monsieur goes to his dance, I’m going to trim a cap."

"Downstairs?"

"No, upstairs."

"Is the shop closed already?"

"What, at nine o’clock? Don’t you follow the example of those evil tongues across the street, who say that the best part of our business is done when the shop is closed. Pretty shopkeepers they are, to talk about other people! The chief partner is bargaining for a place as box-opener at a theatre."

"There! How does my hair look?"

"Delicious, my friend! You’ll suffocate all rivals."

"Oh! all I care for is to be decent, presentable. You see, I make no pretensions."

"That is why you stand hours in front of your glass, practising smiles."

"For you alone, Fifine.--Ah! now where are my gloves?"

"I say, there’ll be a supper, no doubt, where you’re going? Bring me something."

"You expect me to put ices in my pocket, I suppose?"

"There’ll be other things besides ices; I want you to bring me some sweetmeats, or I’ll never put on curl-papers for you again."

"All right--we will see."

"Is monsieur going very far?"

"Rue du Helder."

"The milords’ quarter!--You mean to take a cab, no doubt?"

"I surely shan’t go on foot in this costume.--Let me see--it’s half past nine; I shall be at the Baron de Marcey’s at quarter to ten. That will do."

"Then it wasn’t worth while to make such a terrible fuss, my friend."

"There’s a cabstand almost in front of the house. I wonder if you would be kind enough to go down with me and call one?"

"That’s it; the only thing left for me to do will be to ride behind. But no matter; this is one of my good-natured days; forward!"

Robineau locked his door; Fifine went downstairs with him and called a cab, into which Robineau jumped after pressing the young milliner’s hand affectionately. She watched him go and called to him once more:

"Don’t forget to bring me something good!"