A PRETTY THIEF.
In 1864 there was a show of fruits and flowers in the Rue de la Chausée-d'Antin, and the proprietor of a suburban nursery exhibited a collection of orchides, grown and blown to perfection. One flower was of surpassing size and beauty, and was deservedly considered the gem of the exhibition. On the second day, a young woman of prepossessing appearance, whose attire and manner indicated that she belonged to the industrial class, appeared to be quite enchanted by the splendid orchis, and her encomiums, and perhaps her good looks, attracted the attention of the exhibitor. He paid her some gallant compliments, and ventured to inquire her name.
"Monsieur, it is in the catalogue."
"Then, Mademoiselle, it must be 'Rose;' you are indeed worthy of the same designation as the pride of our parterres."
"Monsieur is right in his conjectures as to my name, but he is mistaken in the comparison by which he compliments me so greatly."
"May I presume, to ask where Mademoiselle resides?"
"I live, Monsieur in the Rue d'Amsterdam, No. —."
"I indulge the pleasing hope that Mademoiselle may permit me to have the honour of calling on her."
"Monsieur confers a great honour on me, I shall have much pleasure in receiving his visit."
The horticulturist became completely enamoured; he redoubled his compliments, and eventually requested Mademoiselle to remain in care of his flowers whilst he procured some ice and other delicacies for her refection. When he returned, Rose had disappeared, and with her his magnificent orchis had departed. The plant remained, but the stem was severed near the root, and the display of its loveliness was adjourned for at least twelve months. Furiously indignant, he denounced the pretty Rose as a thief. Proceeding quickly to the Rue d'Amsterdam, he found that the numbers of the houses stopped short by one of the number mentioned by her. He was despoiled, and had no available remedy. Towards the close of the next day, he was contemplating his stand, lamenting the loss of its greatest attraction, and recounting to his sympathising friends the circumstances of the spoliation, when a box and a note were delivered to him by a porter, who had been employed to convey them from a neighbouring street. The note was as follows:—
"Monsieur,
"You displayed too great a temptation to an ardent admirer of beautiful flowers. From the moment I beheld your orchis I determined that its artificial reproduction should not fall to the lot of any rival artiste. In the accompanying box you may behold your flower; and if you place it upon the stem, it will not wither for a considerable time. Receive, Monsieur, the assurance of my lasting respect and gratitude.
"Rose."
The box contained an artificial orchis, so exactly resembling the stolen flower, that it would deceive the closest observer. It was placed upon the stand, and passed off admirably. The fair delinquent was not detected—indeed the search for her was not rigorously pursued—but copies of the abstracted orchis gained a general and deserved pre-eminence amongst the artificial flowers which graced the fashionable female dresses of the succeeding season.