"Ah! I think I recognize you now; you're the girl who sells violets." "When there is any, my little ducky." "If you've been running after me to offer me flowers, you might have saved yourself the trouble." "No, it isn't for that; I have a message for you." "Who gave it to you?" "A lady, and a very pretty lady too." "A lady--what's her name?" "She didn't tell me; and you don't suppose I asked her, do you? but she described you so that I couldn't make any mistake. She has something to say to you, and she'll be at the Pâté on Place des Italiens to-morrow night at nine o'clock." "To-morrow night! at the Pâté!" Tobie reflected for some time; he tried to think who the lady could be who wished to see him; and at last he thought of Madame Plays, who had left him so abruptly on the Champs-Élysées; perhaps she knew the whole story of Albert's conduct now, and wished to revenge herself with him for her lover's faithlessness, and to compensate him for the outburst of temper to which she had given way when she left him. "If Albert did write anything offensive in that letter," he thought, "she has probably learned that I had nothing to do with it; she is sorry that she treated me so badly, and means to treat me better now. I am less surprised, because, when I was making love to her, she seemed to be deeply touched; everything was going along finely, and, if it hadn't occurred to her to read that infernal letter, I should certainly have triumphed.--What sort of looking woman was it who gave you the message?" he asked Bastringuette. "Oh! a very fine-looking woman." "A little large, wasn't she?" "Yes, monsieur, she's plump; but it's becoming to her." "Light chestnut hair?" "Very light--almost a blonde." "That's it. A voice something like a man's?" "Oh! a splendid voice; when she speaks, you'd think it was a hand organ. She ought to sing well, she had." "There's no doubt about it--it was she!" "Do you know who she is?" "I think so; but I know so many of 'em, you see!" "But you'll keep the appointment, won't you, monsieur?" "Oh! to be sure!" "So much the better; for it seems as if the lady was broiling to see you.--'If I'd known his address,' she says, 'I'd have written to him; but I don't know where he lives.'" "That's true, she doesn't know it; and there are very few people who could tell her; I don't talk much about my address." "Good-night, monsieur! my errand's done, and I'm going home to bed. Don't forget your appointment at the Pâté." "Never fear." Bastringuette turned on her heel, and Tobie did the same, saying to himself: "It seems that she's paid. I'm not sorry, I like that way better;" and he went his way, building castles in Spain touching his liaison with the susceptible Plays. Célestin called on Albert at midday, and found him gazing at a magnificent cashmere shawl that was spread out on a divan. "What the devil are you doing?" inquired Monsieur de Valnoir. "I am admiring this shawl, as you see; isn't it superb?"