“I am glad to hear it.”
“She works on Rue Sainte-Apolline, from eight in the morning till eight in the evening.”
“That is all I want to know.”
I rewarded the invaluable soothsayer and returned to the garden, which was beginning to be deserted. I walked in the direction of the exit, enchanted to know at last where I could find Mademoiselle Caroline.
As I passed before a silhouette booth, I imagined that I heard a voice which was not unfamiliar to me. I stopped. People were disputing in the small oiled-paper studio, and I recognized my neighbor Raymond’s voice. What in the devil was he doing there? I listened; the maker of silhouettes said:
“It’s half-past eleven, monsieur; everybody’s gone, and I must shut up shop, too.”
“One more silhouette, my friend, and I’ll go.”
“You’ve been here in my studio more than two hours, monsieur; I have cut you out seventeen times already.”
“Well, this will make eighteen. Oh! I can’t have too many portraits; I shall find places enough for them! everybody’s asking me for one.”
“I tell you that I must close my shop, monsieur.”