“Yes; dark or chestnut-colored.”
“Black eyes?”
“Yes; that is to say, dark gray.”
“Ah! it was she!”
“Who is she?”
“That doesn’t concern you, Monsieur Raymond.”
“True; I asked the question inadvertently. Adieu!—By the way, are you going to Madame Vauvert’s to-night? There’s to be a grand party, a concert, and perhaps dancing. I fancy there’ll be lots of people there. I am going to sing the aria from Joconde. Monsieur Vauvert sent me word that he should have a young woman who plays finely on the guitar, and a gentleman who sings in Italian like a Bouffon.”
“A most alluring prospect.”
“I believe Madame Bertin is going, with her young ladies. The younger one is studying a piece that she’s to play on the piano. But time flies, and I have a lot of errands to do.—Au revoir, neighbor! I promised Vauvert to bring him a ‘cello and a second violin to complete his quartette. I must go and drum up my performers.”
He went away at last. The infernal fellow was responsible for my failure to see Caroline; for I had no doubt that it was she who had brought my box. What was I to do next? If I went again to the shop, what should I say? I had no idea; but I did not propose to have my rooms filled with artificial flowers to no purpose. I returned to Rue Sainte-Apolline.