"But," some of his friends would reply, "have you never felt the pleasure of giving? Are you insensible to the delight one feels in gratifying a woman's desires, in humoring her fancies, her caprices, and in the sweet smile with which she thanks you when you take her a present, whether it be some pretty trifle, or a magnificent jewel?"
"Pardieu! I can readily believe that she smiles at you then; you wouldn't have her make a face at you, would you? But that gracious smile, which transports and intoxicates you, is not bestowed on you, but on the jewel or the shawl that you bring her. And perhaps you think that she loves you the more for it? Why, not at all; she will deceive you the next minute, making fun of you with the friend of her heart, to whom she will laughingly show the present you have just given her. No, messieurs, I do not know, nor have I any desire to know, what you choose to call the pleasure of giving. For that pleasure would deprive me of all confidence in my mistress; and if I am deceived, I can, at all events, say that it has cost me nothing.—And then," De Mardeille would add, "I must say that I have always chosen my conquests in good society, and that, consequently, my mistresses did not need to have me treat them generously."
"That proves nothing. Whatever a woman's rank, she is always flattered to receive a handsome present."
"Perhaps so; but, on the other hand, I am much more flattered when she loves me without any presents."
Now you know the gentleman who lived directly opposite Georgette, and whose windows, being on the first floor, enabled him to look directly into the apartments in the entresol opposite; which entresol was occupied by the pretty shirtmaker, who, as we have already had the privilege of informing you, often left her windows open to enjoy the balmy spring air, and perhaps also to allow her neighbors to see her. When a woman is pretty, she does not hide herself, unless she is under the sway of a jealous tyrant. And even then she finds a way to let some portion of her person be seen, which may kindle a desire to see the rest.
Monsieur de Mardeille condescended occasionally to sit at a window in his dining-room, which looked on the courtyard; and there, in a stylish négligé, enveloped in a handsome dressing-gown, of velvet or dimity according to the season, his head covered with a dainty cap, the tassel of which fell gracefully over his right ear, and from beneath which escaped some stray brown locks, which were sternly forbidden to turn gray, my gentleman would bestow a glance or two on those of his neighbors who were worth the trouble of looking at. But thus far he had discovered nobody in the house who deserved to be scrutinized for more than an instant.
When Georgette moved in, Monsieur de Mardeille's valet lost no time in informing his master that he had a new neighbor opposite, and added:
"I thought she seemed to be very good-looking."
"Ah! she seemed to you to be good-looking?" replied the old dandy, with a smile. "What sort of woman is this new tenant?"
"She's an unmarried woman, so it seems, monsieur, and she makes men's shirts."