I walked back and forth in the neighborhood of Mademoiselle Caroline and her friends for a long while; I passed before the group and stared at the pretty creature; but she paid no attention to me. I saw that I must make up my mind to invite her to dance, but I had difficulty in doing it; for I felt that I should look like a petty shop-clerk who was in the habit of going to Tivoli to dance on Sundays. While I was making these reflections, the orchestra played the prelude; that decided me, and I walked toward the young women. But just as I was on the point of delivering my invitation, the pretty flowermaker rose and gave her hand to a young man, who had got the start of me, and who led her out to dance. I had arrived too late; so much for listening to my absurd self-esteem! However, I swore that I would not be behindhand for the next contradance; and for fear of being defrauded again, I hastened to the quadrille in which Mademoiselle Caroline was performing, and then and there engaged her for the next one. She accepted, and I was overjoyed; I stood near her, mingling my words of praise with those of several other young men; and while her partner was executing the _avant deux_, I complimented her on her bunch of roses and apologized for my awkwardness of the previous evening. At that, she looked up at me and smiled, and took more notice of me; I had reason to believe that her scrutiny did not result to my disadvantage. From time to time, I ventured a word or two to the effect that I had come to Tivoli solely in the hope of meeting her; she did not reply, but I saw that she listened; if she were ever so little of a coquette, I felt sure of making my way! And she was, she must be; for all women are. The dance at an end, I impatiently awaited the following one, when I should be able to talk with Caroline, and it would be easy for me to find out how far I might hope. In the briefest interview I can generally tell what manner of person I have to do with, and I rarely make a mistake; not that I believe all that they say to me, but I divine how much hope they are willing to give me. Women, being more expansive than men, have a certain _laisser aller_ which says a great deal to one who is accustomed to deal with them. When they have wit, a mere hint discloses it; when they have nothing but jargon, they murder you with it; when they have nothing to say, there is no possibility of mistake. Montaigne said: "Style makes the man;" I think that he might well have said also: "Conversation makes the woman;" but I beg his pardon for presuming to express my opinion in conjunction with his.