Then I rejoined the curious onlookers, taking care to get close to the soothsayer. Caroline had taken her friend's place, and the magic horn was already applied to her ear, when I pulled the sorcerer's frock; I pointed to my note, on which I had laid a five-franc piece. He put out his hand and grasped it; those fellows readily understand one's meaning. All this was done without attracting the attention of the bystanders. Mademoiselle Caroline was told a thousand pleasant things, no doubt, for she laughed like a madwoman; at times she seemed perturbed and surprised, and glanced furtively at me. I was sure that the soothsayer was talking about me; that knave knew his business; I heartily commend him to the sex. At last he took the girl's hand and handed her her horoscope, slipping my note into her hand at the same time, and bidding her to postpone reading it until she went to bed. It seemed to me that Mademoiselle Caroline understood, for she thrust the paper into her bosom before joining her aunt. At last she went away with her whole party, and I did not follow her. I had an idea that my hermit could tell me all that I wanted to know; for he had spoken to her in an undertone, and she had replied many times by the medium of the horn. My man came to me and led me into his hermitage, where he dashed into the subject at once, without waiting for me to question him. "Her name's Caroline." "I know it." "She makes flowers." "I know that too." "She's eighteen years old." "So I should think." "She hasn't any lover." "So I hoped." "She means to remain virtuous." "I doubt it." "She has noticed you." "I think it likely." "She is attracted to you." "I am glad to hear it." "She works on Rue Sainte-Apolline, from eight in the morning till eight in the evening." "That is all I want to know." I rewarded the invaluable soothsayer and returned to the garden, which was beginning to be deserted. I walked in the direction of the exit, enchanted to know at last where I could find Mademoiselle Caroline. As I passed before a silhouette booth, I imagined that I heard a voice which was not unfamiliar to me. I stopped. People were disputing in the small oiled-paper studio, and I recognized my neighbor Raymond's voice. What in the devil was he doing there? I listened; the maker of silhouettes said: "It's half-past eleven, monsieur; everybody's gone, and I must shut up shop, too." "One more silhouette, my friend, and I'll go." "You've been here in my studio more than two hours, monsieur; I have cut you out seventeen times already." "Well, this will make eighteen. Oh! I can't have too many portraits; I shall find places enough for them! everybody's asking me for one." "I tell you that I must close my shop, monsieur." "Close it, if you choose; I'll stay inside; I don't propose to go yet." "You will go, monsieur." "One more silhouette!" "No, monsieur, you can't have it."