“Tell me what flowers you want, monsieur; that will be better than upsetting my whole stock.”
But the little fellow could not admire the pretty flower girl enough, and he had no idea what he wanted.
The porter who had in his arms the box with the pomegranate, which was very heavy, and the rosebush, which was not light, said to Madame Glumeau:
“If you’re going to be here long, lady, I am going to get a basket to put these things in.”
“Oh, no! it isn’t worth while, messenger; we are going at once.—Well, my son, have you chosen your flowers?”
“I don’t find what I am looking for.”
“Bless my soul! Eolinde, is not that Cousin Michonnard, standing over there?”
“Yes, yes, mamma, it is she.”
“Ah! if she sees us, we are lost; she will follow us wherever we go; we shall not be able to get rid of her, for she is quite capable of inviting herself to dinner. You know that your father doesn’t like her because she always says that he doesn’t look well. Let’s go along at once before she sees us.—Come, Astianax.”
“But my dear mother, I haven’t any bouquet.”