Little Astianax put his mouth to his neighbor’s ear and whispered:
“The flower girl’s mighty pretty!”
“Do you think so? That’s a matter of taste.”
“Hum! nonsense! Anybody can see that; I noticed her yesterday; I came with mamma and my sister to buy some flowers, because it was papa’s birthday. I didn’t buy any; I gave him some nougat.”
“A very pretty bouquet that!”
“Oh! it doesn’t make any difference, I am going to give him some flowers to-day; and I came here again, for I dreamed of the flower girl all night.”
“Really!”
“Yes, yes; I was a pacha and she was a slave.”
“Mademoiselle,” said Jéricourt aloud, turning to Violette, “here’s a young man who dreamed about you all night, just because he saw you yesterday.”
Monsieur Astianax turned scarlet; he pulled the skirt of Jéricourt’s coat and whispered: “Oh! I won’t tell you anything more! You make me blush!”