For ten minutes, a woman dressed in the height of fashion had been walking back and forth in front of the rosebushes, myrtles, and orange-trees; sometimes she walked on the outer edge of the sidewalk, to avoid the people who were examining the shrubs; but her glances ranged over the whole market and its neighborhood; not a man passed without her looking closely at him to make sure that it was not he for whom she was waiting; you have already divined that the woman was Herminie Plays. There was an impatient gleam in her eyes, for a rendezvous of this sort was something to which she was not accustomed; and if Monsieur Albert Vermoncey had not been a very fascinating young man, it is probable that she would already have left the place.
Suddenly a short, stout young man came toward her, walking as rapidly as his little legs would allow. She saw him coming, but she was about to turn her head away, for he was not the young man she was expecting, when he halted in front of her and raised his hat, saying:
"It is surely Madame Plays to whom I have the honor of wishing a good-evening?"
"Yes, monsieur. Ah! it is Monsieur Tobie Pigeonnier! I did not recognize you at first—it is getting quite dark."
"I recognized you at once, madame; but you have one of those figures which it is impossible to mistake, and which attract one's eye instantly."
"You are too gallant, monsieur; but I beg your pardon—I am looking for somebody, and I am afraid——"
"Do not look for him, it is useless; he will not come—at least, not at this moment."
"What! what do you mean?"
"That I come from Albert Vermoncey, my intimate friend, who is prevented by important business from joining you just yet."
"What do you say? he has told you—why, that is very indiscreet on Monsieur Albert's part. Really, men are a hundred times more garrulous than women!"