"The next day I went boldly to Master Hugonnet's shop. Ambroisine had surprised me with my eyes fixed on her friend; I did not choose to feign with her, so I asked her about her pretty companion of the preceding night. She received me very harshly, as I expected; she told me that I would have nothing to show for my sighs, my amorous enterprises; that Bathilde--that is the divine creature's name--that Bathilde never went out; that it was an exceptional event, her going to see the fire the night before; but that her father and mother kept watch over her day and night as their most precious treasure--in fact, the haughty _baigneuse_ went so far as to read me a lecture. She told me that it would be frightful in me to think of seducing so much innocence and simplicity.--Poor Ambroisine! she did not realize that the more she expatiated on Bathilde's virtue, the more she increased my desire to possess her.--But I think that you are not listening, Jarnonville." "I beg pardon; go on." "I left Ambroisine, swearing that I would respect her friend, and I came at once to this street and began to do sentry duty here. For two days I saw no sign of the girl. I entered the baths--nothing. I was shaved in the shop--still nothing--no Bathilde. At last, three days ago, the window looking on yonder balcony opened, and a young woman appeared carrying a pot of flowers. She placed it carefully where it is now.--It was she, it was Bathilde. But had she seen me pacing the street? had she recognized me? That was something that I could not know; but the sight of her gave me hope. That beautiful rosebush had never been at that window; to place it on the balcony was to afford herself an excuse for coming there again. And, in fact, a few hours after the rosebush was placed there, the sweet girl appeared again and examined her flowers with much care. Never was a rosebush more scrupulously cleaned. She did not look at me while she was thus engaged, but I was certain that she saw me. Now and then a furtive glance was cast in my direction; but as it always met mine, she hastened to turn her head away.--However, since that day Bathilde continues to tend her flowers, to water them, to come several times a day to look at them. At first, I sent her kisses; yesterday, I did better--I wrote a few words, rolled the note around a stone, and, after dark, seizing a moment when no one was passing through the street, I tossed it on the balcony. I am certain that she picked it up, for the stone is no longer there. But to-day she has not once appeared at the window; the rosebush has been pitilessly neglected! Is it to punish me for writing to her? Is it to make me understand that she does not share my love, that I must renounce all hope? Oh, no! that is impossible! I read that charming girl's eyes, her whole expression; she has not yet learned the art of concealing what she feels. I noticed her cheeks flush when she saw me, her lovely eyes kindle with a brighter