“Yes,” said Mademoiselle Eolinde, “a su—su—superb bou—bou——”
“That isn’t all,” said Monsieur Astianax, doing his utmost to look at the pretty flower girl with both eyes at once. “I wish to express a certain meaning in presenting a bouquet to my father, so that the flowers must interpret my meaning; I would like a selam, mademoiselle; give me a selam.”
Violette stared at him as she replied:
“I don’t know that flower, monsieur; does it grow in boxes or in pots?”
“A selam is not a single flower, mademoiselle; it is an arrangement of flowers, which means something particular; it’s an oriental bouquet.”
“I have no oriental flowers, monsieur.”
“But you don’t catch my meaning, I mean——”
“Upon my word, Astianax, you are insufferable; you will keep us here two hours when you know that we are in a hurry; select yourself the flowers that you want, and she will make them into a bouquet for you.”
Monsieur Astianax, confused by the flower girl’s lovely eyes, turned very red and began to rummage among the flowers on the counter, stammering:
“But I don’t see—I am looking—I don’t find—I would like—haven’t you got any?”