"Do you think people really are so wretched when they cause others to suffer?" asked Jeanne, still not looking at Bijou. "I don't think they are! There are the thoughtless people, who make others suffer without knowing it, and then there are the others, who cause people to suffer because it amuses them; and neither the former nor the latter know what it is to feel remorse--" As Jeanne stood still, lost in thought, a far-away look in her eyes, Bijou stroked her friend's face gently. "There, don't think any more about these sad things, Jeanne, dear," she said. "Your grief won't change anything when the mischief is already done, and you are making yourself wretched all in vain. Come, now, let us talk about our play, and about dress, or no matter what--oh! by the bye, about dress, does yours fit well at last?" "It fits; but it does not suit me!" "Oh, that's impossible!" "No, it's very natural, on the contrary! I have not your complexion, remember! I am paler than you are, and that pink makes me paler still; and then I am thin, and the little gathered bodice, which shows up your pretty figure to perfection, makes me look no figure at all--it does not matter, though--it's of no importance whatever!" "What do you mean by saying it is of no importance?" "Why, yes, don't you see, Bijou dear, that whether one is well or badly dressed, if one is just common-place as I am, one would always pass unnoticed by the side of anyone as beautiful as you are." Bijou turned her eyes up towards the ceiling, and said, in a half-serious, half-joking way: "My poor dear child, you are wandering--you don't know at all what you are talking about!" And then suddenly changing her tone she asked: "What time do you start to the races to-morrow?" "I don't know. Papa will have arranged that with M. Spiegel. Ah, tell me! shall you go early to the Tourvilles' dance? I don't want to get there before you." Denyse was looking at her watch. "Oh! I must go!" she exclaimed. "They want some gardenias at home for button-holes; I don't know where I shall be able to get any; someone told me of a florist up by the station somewhere." "By the station? but there are only market-gardeners there, no florists." "Yes, it seems that in that little lane--you know--to the right of the quay--" "Lilac Lane, I know where you mean; but there are only vegetable gardens there, and some waste ground, and then a few small houses, that are generally rented by officers because they are near to the barracks." "Well, anyhow," said Bijou, getting up, "I'll go and look round there!" * * * * *