"Pardine! would that skin your tongue? Besides, you're a fine gentleman, a swell; she won't dare to fly into a temper before you, and she'll listen to me. But if I go home alone--what a row! Oh! mon Dieu! how unlucky I am! I didn't want to go to the Grand Salon at all; I was afraid of something like this." And thereupon the tears and sobs began afresh, and she stamped with her little feet. Perhaps her mother would tear out her hair; that would be too bad, for it formed a most becoming frame for that frank, artless countenance. My heart is not made of stone; I was touched by the girl's distress, and I said to myself: "If, instead of this jacket, she were dressed in silk or even in merino, if she wore a dainty bonnet instead of this round cap, and a pretty locket instead of a cross _à la_ Jeannette, I would long ago have offered my services with great zeal; I would play the gallant and make myself as agreeable as possible; I would cut myself in two to obtain a hearing, and I would regard it as a favor if she would allow me to offer her my arm. And shall this modest costume make me cruel, unfeeling? Shall I refuse to do a trivial favor, which she implores with tears in her eyes? Ah! that would be bad, very bad!"--I had been following a grisette and a _grande dame_, who perhaps were not worth so much notice as this poor child; I had passed the evening making a fool of myself, and I could certainly devote an hour to a worthy action. I determined to escort my flower girl to her home. You see, reader, that I sometimes have good impulses; to be sure, the girl pleased me much. "All women seem to please you," perhaps you will say. True, reader; all the pretty ones; and I venture to say that you are like me. I drew nearer to my pretty fugitive. She was sitting on a stone, holding a corner of her apron to her eyes, and sobbing. "Mademoiselle." "Mon--monsieur." "What is your name?" "Ni-Ni-i-cette, monsieur." "Well, my little Nicette, have courage; stop crying, and take my arm. I will take you home to your mother." "Real--Really?" She jumped for joy; indeed, I believe that she was on the point of embracing me; but she contented herself with taking my arm, which she pressed very close in hers, saying: "Ah! I was sure that you wouldn't leave me in such a pickle. I'm a good girl, monsieur; the whole quarter will tell you that Nicette's reputation's as clear as spring water. But my mother is so ugly! and then my sister's jealous because she says I make soft eyes at Finemouche." "You can tell me all about it on the way. Where are we going?" "Oh, dear! it's quite a little distance. I have a stand at the Croix-Rouge, and I live on Rue Sainte-Marguerite, where my mother keeps a fruit shop."