The ci-devant lady-killer was still gallant; but his fortune no longer permitted him to be gallant in the same measure as of yore.
Chicotin walked along Boulevard du Château d'Eau, with his franc in his hand; and as it was not flower market day, there were very few dealers in evidence; and the flower girls who were in their places had very few violets, which doubtless were also scarce at that moment.
The pretty flower girl who bore the name of that flower was the only one supplied with them; she had some large and fine bunches.
"Sapristi!" said Chicotin to himself, as he turned over some miserable little bunches at two sous which another flower girl offered him; "this isn't what I want; I can't carry such things as these to the lady on Rue Fontaine-Saint-Georges; for when one buys only one kind of flower for a franc, one ought to get a fine bunch."
"You think so, do you, sonny? Perhaps you don't know that violets are out of season just now. See, I will tie these four little bunches that I have left all together and they will make a very pretty bouquet."
"Not much! I don't want 'em; your bunches are all withered; they look as if they had been used before."
"What a stupid little animal!"
Chicotin walked away from her, saying to himself:
"It's no use for me to look, there's only one flower girl who has any real good bunches of what I am looking for, and that's Violette; but I have sworn not to buy anything of her since I knew that she deceived poor Georget. However, I must do my errand, and I don't know whether I shall find violets anywhere else. After all, you buy of a person and pay her and that's the end of it; that don't make you friends; and then, she don't ask so much as the others; I'll go to her."
So Chicotin walked to the girl's booth and examined her bouquets.