When the girl had finished the bouquet, with which she took the greatest care, she asked a neighbor to look after her booth and started for Boulevard Beaumarchais; she arrived at the number given her; she entered an attractive, newly-built house and asked the concierge:
“Madame de Belleval?”
The concierge assumed the expression of a person who does not know what one means; then suddenly he remembered and slapped his leg, exclaiming:
“Ah! what a stupid fool I am! I forgot all about it.—Go up to the fifth floor, the door at the right, for Madame de Belleval.”
“The fifth floor?”
“Yes, the door at the right.”
Violette went upstairs, saying to herself:
“That concierge acted very strangely when he answered me; perhaps he always has that manner. It’s surprising that a lady who buys such handsome bouquets should live so high; but lodgings are very dear now; and after all, it’s none of my business.”
And without the slightest suspicion, the girl quickly climbed the five flights and rang at the door on the right hand. It was opened immediately, and a woman who had the appearance of a box-opener out of a job said to Violette:
“Ah! mamzelle has brought the bouquet; that’s good! Come in, mamzelle, come in.”