"True; I asked the question inadvertently. Adieu!--By the way, are you going to Madame Vauvert's to-night? There's to be a grand party, a concert, and perhaps dancing. I fancy there'll be lots of people there. I am going to sing the aria from _Joconde_. Monsieur Vauvert sent me word that he should have a young woman who plays finely on the guitar, and a gentleman who sings in Italian like a Bouffon." "A most alluring prospect." "I believe Madame Bertin is going, with her young ladies. The younger one is studying a piece that she's to play on the piano. But time flies, and I have a lot of errands to do.--Au revoir, neighbor! I promised Vauvert to bring him a 'cello and a second violin to complete his quartette. I must go and drum up my performers." He went away at last. The infernal fellow was responsible for my failure to see Caroline; for I had no doubt that it was she who had brought my box. What was I to do next? If I went again to the shop, what should I say? I had no idea; but I did not propose to have my rooms filled with artificial flowers to no purpose. I returned to Rue Sainte-Apolline. The proprietor was out; so much the better. I complained and stormed because my flowers had not been sent. A girl rose and declared that she had left them at my rooms. It was not Caroline; therefore, it was not she who had come. I became calmer and shifted the blame onto my neighbor's shoulders. The forewoman scolded the girl. I bought some more wreaths, pretending that I had forgotten to buy them on my first visit; and I asked to have them sent with me. This time Caroline was selected to be the messenger. At last I was to have an opportunity to speak to her freely, to be alone with her! "One moment!" I said to myself; "I haven't reached that point yet; I must not be too sure beforehand; one is so often disappointed!" Mademoiselle Caroline walked with her eyes bent on the ground, and I remained at a respectful distance; but when we were a few steps from the shop, I put her into a cab, which took us to my domicile. She hesitated at first about entering the cab, but I urged her; she consented at last, and then she had no choice but to listen to all that love impelled me to say, if I may give the name of _love_ to the caprice that had occupied my thoughts since the preceding night. But obstacles give added value to the most trifling fancy, and sometimes transform a simple caprice into a deep-rooted sentiment. The difficulty which I had encountered in obtaining an interview with Caroline caused me to find a greater charm in her company; my words had more fire, more eloquence; and so little is required to convince a girl whose heart is already half vanquished.