But the shops began to open, the tradesmen took down their shutters, the concierges were sweeping down their steps, blinds were being raised, lazy folk were beginning to yawn and stretch their arms, working girls came out to buy their ounce of coffee, old bachelors their roll, maid-servants their beef stew, and old women their little pitcher of cream. The messenger went to the wine shop for his glass of wine, and the cabman for his glass of brandy, in order to begin the day aright! The peasant women, who had already done half their day's work, remounted their donkeys and returned to the fields; and I left the boulevards and went home. Three-fourths of the tenants were still asleep. It was only half-past seven, and I met nobody but a few maid-servants. My neighbor was not awake as yet, I sincerely hoped. Poor Raymond! after his adventure of the preceding evening, I presumed that we must have a grand explanation. He must inevitably be in a rage with me; for I credited him with sufficient common sense to understand that the young women in the milliner's shop had deliberately made sport of him. On reaching my door, I found something attached to the knob. It was a bouquet from Nicette, already a little withered; it had been there since the evening before, no doubt. The little flower girl did not forget me; and I, who might have gone to say good-morning to her at six o'clock, had not even thought of her. I very seldom passed her shop. And yet, Nicette was well worth going out of one's way to see; but for the last few days I had been so engrossed that I had had no time to think of my protégée; indeed, I had vowed not to think too much of her, and I believed that I should do well to keep my vow--for her sake especially. I wanted her to forget me, for I believed her to be very susceptible and quite capable of becoming deeply attached to the man she should chance to love.--"No," I thought, "I will not go to see her; that is the wiser course. She will end by forgetting me."--But I had a feeling that I should be very sorry if she did. I detached the bouquet and entered my rooms; they too reminded me of Nicette and of the night we had passed together there. That night in no wise resembled the night which had just gone, and which had been marked by nothing that was abnormal in my experience. I had spent and expected to spend many nights as pleasurable as the last. But those nights are very rare when a girl of sixteen, emotional and attractive, succeeds, while she beguiles us by her charms, in forcing us to respect her innocence.