"Here, monsieur?"
"To be sure; you don't suppose I am going to put myself out to go into the salon to receive this grisette, do you?"
"Then I will show her in here."
The servant went out, returned in a moment, and announced: "Mademoiselle Georgette!"—And the Georgette with whom we are already acquainted, having seen her on Rue de Seine and Boulevard Beaumarchais, entered the smoking room in her morning costume; but this time there was something in the simple négligé that denoted more thought, more coquetry: the jacket was trimmed with lace, the white petticoat had an embroidered hem; and the hair was arranged according to the prevailing style; plainly, she realized that she was now in the Chaussée d'Antin.
Georgette advanced three steps and retreated two, crying:
"Mon Dieu! what a horrible smell!"
Thereupon the viscount turned over on his couch, and said:
"So you don't like the smell of tobacco, my girl?"
"Hallo! there's someone here. But I can't see anything; it's like being in the clouds! Well! I won't stay here! I don't propose to have people think that I've been in barracks!"
And Georgette walked quickly from the smoking room, followed a corridor, opened the first door she saw, and found herself in a charming salon, where she paused a moment.