"It was a good place, and I was sorry to lose it when Mademoiselle Eugénie was married," said she. "The little gifts the _jeunes gens_ slipped into my panier as I came with mademoiselle from mass almost equalled my wages. Mademoiselle had a good _dot_ as well as beauty, and _ces jeunes gens_ expected to lose nothing by what they gave me. Mademoiselle herself often said, 'Désirée, walk a few steps behind me, and, while I keep my eyes upon the pavement, tell me all the young men who turn to look after me. If you hear any of them say, "_Comme elle est jolie!_" (How pretty she is!) you shall have my _batiste mouchoirs_.'" On Sunday afternoons all the bourgeois world of our ville disports itself upon the jetty. Not only then do all the mothers of the town with daughters "to marry" bring those daughters to the weekly matrimonial mart, but many of the mothers and chaperons of the near country round about come in from rural _propriété_ and rustic _chalet_ to exhibit their candidates. The method of procedure is eminently French, of course, and eminently naïve, as even the intrigues and machinations of Balzac's _bourgeoisie_, although intended as marvels of finesse, seem so often naïveté itself to our blunter and less-plotting minds. The mothers and daughters, or chaperons and charges, walk slowly arm in arm up and down one side the jetty, facing the counter-current of young men and men not young who have not lost interest in feminine attractions. Back and forth, back and forth, for hours, move the two separate streams, never for one instant commingling, each discussing the other's prospects, characters, appearance, and, above all, _dots_ and _rentes_, till twilight falls and all the world goes home to dinner. Once upon a time a retired man of business came to our ville, accompanied by his son. He was one of the class known in England as "Commys," and so obnoxious in France as _commis-voyageurs._ He stopped at the Cheval Blanc, and in conversation with mine host inquired if it might chance that some café-keeper in the town desired to sell his café and marry his daughter. Monsieur Brissom mentioned to him our café-keepers blessed with marriageable daughters, and "Commy" made the rounds among them, announcing that he had a son whom he wished to marry to some charming demoiselle _dot_ed with a café. One of the café-keepers had "_précisément votre affaire_." It was arranged that Mademoiselle Clothilde should be promenaded by her mother the next Sunday on the jetty, where the young man should join the counter-current, and thus each take observations of the other. As said, so done. Monsieur Henri and Mademoiselle Clothilde declared themselves enchanted with each other. "_Très-bien_," said the reflective parents. "Now fall in love as fast as ever you please." Monsieur and mademoiselle not only "fell," but plunged.