"Ah! monsieur is leaving us?" said Beauvinet, pulling at one side of his wig. "If anyone comes to ask for monsieur, what address shall I give?"
"You may send them to Passage I-don't-know-where, the first door to the right as you enter Paris by the Barrière de l'Etoile."
When Roncherolle had been gone a long time, the young man was still pulling at his wig, saying to himself:
"Passage I-don't-know-where! that's funny; I know all the passages in Paris except that one."
XXXII
A BUNCH OF VIOLETS
Since the Comte de Brévanne had spoken to Violette, and since she had seen Georget look at her from a distance, and then walk hastily away, with a glance of contempt at her, the young flower girl felt every day more depressed and discouraged. So long as Georget had been near her, so long as she was able to see him morning and evening, and read in his eyes the love he felt for her, the young girl had looked upon that love as a mere childish freak, and had refused to admit to herself that she shared the sentiment which she aroused.
But now that her young lover had left Paris in order to avoid being near her, now that he had fled from her, and when he met her manifested no other feeling than that of contempt or hatred, poor Violette realized how dearly she loved Georget; and, what was even more cruel, how dearly she still loved him, despite the grief he caused her.
When she learned that the gentleman who had questioned her concerning Georget was the young messenger's patron, the pretty flower girl had felt a thrill of joy, and hope had returned to her heart; she flattered herself that through the medium of Monsieur Malberg, she could convince her lover that he had done wrong to suspect her. But the abrupt way in which the count left her dispelled that hope.
However, as hope does not quickly leave a young heart, especially that of a young woman who knows that she is pretty, Violette flattered herself for several days that Georget would return to Paris, that he would pass her booth, and that he would not have the courage not to stop; then she said to herself also that this Monsieur Malberg, who had asked her so many questions concerning her age and her mother, would probably want to see her again. But the days passed and no one came, neither Georget, nor his patron. A single man passed now and then in front of the booth of the flower girl, at whom he cast insulting glances, glances which seemed to enjoy the grief that he could read on her face. That man was the author of all the girl's trials; and once even he had dared to approach her and had tried to make love to her; but thereupon Violette had risen, so indignant and so threatening, and the flashing eyes which she turned upon Jéricourt denoted such a determined resolution, and her right hand had grasped so quickly several bunches of thorns which were among her flowers, that he had walked rapidly away, and had never again attempted to enter into conversation with the flower girl.
It was ten o'clock in the morning, and Chicotin had just left Roncherolle, who was living in his new lodgings on Rue de Crussol, and, feeling that his left foot was not yet in condition to descend the five flights, had again employed his regular messenger to carry a bouquet to Madame de Grangeville and to inquire for her health. But as the unfortunate victim of the gout saw his resources diminish every day, he had told Chicotin to buy a bouquet for one franc instead of three.