“It’s too risky in that business! No, thank you, monsieur, all this don’t tempt me; it amuses me to see other people act, but it don’t make me want to act myself. Everyone to his taste, and I prefer my flowers to your stage.”
“Nonsense! it isn’t possible that you refuse, when I undertake to remove all obstacles.”
“Buy this bouquet;—just see what a pretty one it is, and what a sweet smell! I’ll bet that it don’t smell so good in your wings.”
“Surely, this isn’t your last word, Violette? You will think it over, and you will accept.”
“Oh! my reflecting’s all done, monsieur; it don’t take long with me; I know right off what suits me. I don’t feel any calling for the stage.”
“But I tell you——”
“Don’t take the trouble to say any more, monsieur; you’ll just waste your words, and that would be a pity, as you make your business out of them, and you sell wit on paper.”
Jéricourt was so vexed by the rejection of his proposition, when he expected a complete triumph, that he was tongue-tied, and could not think of a single word to answer the flower girl.
At that moment he felt a hand on his arm, and someone said to him:
“Good-day, Monsieur Jéricourt; I recognized you from behind by your cane; I said: ‘That’s my neighbor’s cane.’—How are you?”