From Faubourg Montmartre to the Croix-Rouge! that was enough to kill a man! If only I could find a fiacre! I believe that I would even have taken François's cabriolet, at the risk of having Belotte take the bit in her teeth; but no carriage of any sort passed us. I had no choice but to make the best of it; so I took Nicette by the arm and forced her to quicken her pace. "You are a peddler, Nicette," I said; "what do you sell?" "Bouquets, monsieur; and they're always fresh, I flatter myself." She was a flower girl; I was sure of it. The certainty restored my courage to some extent, and made the journey seem less long. I should not have been flattered to act as escort to a fishwoman; and yet, when it is a matter of rendering a service, should one be influenced by such petty considerations? But what can you do? that infernal self-esteem is forever putting itself forward. Moreover, I am no better than other men; perhaps I am not so good; you may judge for yourselves. "Ah! you sell bouquets, do you?" "Yes, monsieur; and when you want a nice one, come and see me; I will always have some ready for you, day or night." "Thanks.--But how does it happen that, living in Faubourg Saint-Germain, you go to a dance near the Montmartre barrier? I should suppose that you could find balls enough in your own neighborhood." "I'll tell you how that happens. My sister Fanchon has a lover, Finemouche, a brewer, a fine-looking, dark fellow, that all the girls in the quarter are mad over. My mother says that he's a ne'er-do-well, and don't want Fanchon to listen to him; but Fanchon's crazy over him, and she tries all sorts of ways to be with him, on condition that he won't make love to her except with honest motives. This morning she agreed to come to Montmartre at dusk, sentimentally, to have a drink of milk. But she had to make up her mind to take me; mother wouldn't have let her go alone. We said we were going to see an aunt of ours, who sells oranges on the boulevard; that was a trick of Fanchon's. I went with her against my will, especially as Finemouche sometimes gives me a look, that I don't pay any attention to--on the word of an honest girl!--When we got to Montmartre we found the brewer, who treated us both to a donkey ride. After riding round for two hours, I said it was time to turn our toes toward home; but Finemouche says: 'Let's rest a few minutes at the Grand Salon--long enough to eat a salad and have a waltz.'--I didn't want to accept; but my sister likes waltzing and salad, and I had to let her have her way. So we went to the Grand Salon. Fanchon danced with Finemouche; so far, everything went well enough. But, as luck would have it, in comes Beauvisage, a fellow who works in a pork shop on our street. He's another fellow who makes love to all the girls, and who's taken it into his head to have a passion for me." "You don't seem to lack adorers, Nicette."