When Herminie saw it, her face softened, and it retained only a slight pouting expression as she said: "Ah! you have a bouquet." "Yes, madame; I intended to offer it to you when I called, but I was not fortunate enough to be admitted." "It is very pretty." Monsieur Plays walked timidly to Albert's side, and murmured: "Your bouquet is charming; I was saying to myself: 'It smells very sweet here, and it can't be me.'" "Will you condescend to accept it, madame?" "I ought not to, for I am sure that it wasn't intended for me; but I am so fond of flowers! Well, give it to me." She took the bouquet and held it to her nose. "It is very sweet," she said; "it perfumes the whole room. But, no matter; I detest you, I will never forgive you while I live, I forbid you to come to my house any more." "Oh! madame, the idea of bearing malice to such an extent as that! and for what? for a misunderstanding, a blunder perhaps, but in which you surely cannot believe that there was any intention to offend you. No, you will not be so cruel--you will allow me to continue to call upon you." Herminie played with her bouquet without replying, but Monsieur Plays said smilingly to Albert, in an undertone: "She'll allow you to; I am sure that she doesn't bear you any ill will now." "Why do you interfere, Monsieur Plays? I don't know what you mean by meddling in my affairs! Keep quiet, I tell you again; this doesn't concern you!" Monsieur Plays set about cutting a quill. "Besides, I don't like people who have so many whims," continued Herminie, after a short pause. "If you pass a week without thinking of a person, why shouldn't you pass months? To what motive do I owe monsieur's call to-day?" "I had a motive, madame," Albert replied, with a smile; "I have heard a great deal of a cashmere shawl which you wore at Count Dahlborne's reception; it is a marvel of beauty, it seems, and I have heard it extolled so highly that I am very desirous to see it. Will you not be kind enough to show it to me?" Herminie thought that Albert resorted to that pretext in order not to make her husband jealous; for she was far from suspecting that the shawl was really what had brought her fickle lover back to her. The idea amused her, and she replied, with a laugh: "Oho! so you came to see my cashmere! Well! I won't show it to you; if I did, I should have to admit you to my boudoir, and I have sworn that you shall never put your foot there again." "But we swear so many things! A pretty woman's oaths are written on sand, and the slightest breath effaces them." "And what are men's oaths written on?" "On brass.--Isn't it true, Monsieur Plays, that we men keep to our oaths?" "Why, yes; such things have been known. I myself, for instance, swore that I would stop taking snuff when I married Madame Plays, because she doesn't like to hear people sneeze: well, I have kept my oath; to be sure, I still sneeze, but not so often."