She was a charming woman. I am inclined to think that I say that every time my heart takes fire. But, no matter; I may as well repeat it, as the same sentiments were constantly renewed in my heart. What she had said to me could not have been more amiable. She could not see me too often—that was almost a declaration! I left her, with the most flattering hopes stirring in my breast, believing that I was adored already. To be sure, according to what Raymond had told me, it would not be her first weakness; he had spoken, I think, of three or four inclinations. But I refused to judge Madame de Marsan according to the remarks of my neighbor, who was a liar and a slanderer.
“I will go to her house this evening,” I thought. But, no; that would be altogether too soon! I had vowed never again to go so fast in an intrigue, but to try to learn first of all the character of the woman who attracted me, to avoid letting my sentiments appear until I was sure of hers; and lo! I had taken fire already! I wanted to obtain everything at once! Ah! I was incorrigible; I should never know how to spin out a genuine romance.
I determined not to go to Madame de Marsan’s again for two days. Meanwhile, I must have distraction; not that I was still thinking of Mademoiselle Caroline! so far as she was concerned, I was thoroughly cured; indeed, I had concluded that the wound was not very deep. However, if I were left to my own devices, my natural impatience would drive me to Madame de Marsan. But had I not always Nicette to oppose to ennui, sorrow, and, above all, new love affairs?—I would see her; but not yet, for it was only two o’clock. I should be seen talking with her, and that was what I did not want. I must wait until night; so I went home, thinking that I would try to straighten out my affairs a little before dinner.
I found there a letter from my sister. Poor Amélie! She complained that I had entirely forgotten her. In truth, it was now September, and I had not yet been to see her. If I could have gone for two or three days; but that was impossible! when I was once there, she would never let me go.—She wrote of a superb match she had found for me: sixteen years old, beauty, virtue, and fortune. I agreed that the combination was dazzling, but it did not tempt me as yet; perhaps in two or three years—we would see. I made up my mind, however, to go to Amélie and her husband for a fortnight during the autumn; indeed, it was essential that I should do something to set my affairs in order, for my liaison with the flowermaker had disarranged them sadly. The deuce! at the rate things had been going, my income would soon have disappeared. I was much indebted to her for leaving me soon enough to prevent my ruining myself. With six months of strict economy, I should be able to pay my debts; for six months, therefore, I would abstain from those passions that cost so dear; Mademoiselle Caroline had proved that the women for whom we do the most are not the ones who love us best.
At nightfall, I went to see Nicette. Her shop was closed; but I saw a light through the glass over the door. I knocked softly, fearing to attract the attention of the neighbors. I had every appearance of a lover who is afraid of being seen.
“Who is there?” she asked.
“It’s I, Nicette; it’s——”
But I did not need to give my name; the door was already open and she was before me. I entered the shop, closing the door behind me; then paused to examine the girl, who was all alone amid the flowers and shrubs which filled the whole shop, save a small space where there were a table and a chair. The table was covered with paper, pens, and books; and a single candle lighted that little room, where the different flowers diffused a most agreeable odor.
She bade me sit beside her.
“How kind you are to come to see me, Monsieur Dorsan, and to think of me sometimes!”