Georget meant what he said, for when he saw his mother persist in sitting up late, in robbing herself of sleep in order to earn a few sous more, he thought of the happy life he might have provided for her, of that life, free from hard labor and from care, which would have been hers if he had accepted Monsieur Malberg’s offer; and that thought often clouded his brow; as he gazed at the pretty flower girl, he sometimes blamed himself for loving her, because he felt that that love had been fatal to his love for his mother. One morning, the young fellow waited in his usual place, looking in the direction of Violette’s booth, from which she had been absent for some time. Georget was more melancholy than usual; in the first place because he could not see the object of all his thoughts, and secondly, because he had earned nothing as yet that morning, and his mother had had a very scanty supper the night before. Soon he noticed a young man pacing back and forth in front of Violette’s booth, and recognized in him the little fellow with the squint, whom he knew to be one of the flower girl’s adorers. Monsieur Astianax was sauntering along the boulevard, with an enormous cigar in his mouth, which he was very proud to be smoking, and the smoke of which he seemed to take pleasure in blowing into the faces of the ladies who passed; a method of attracting attention which did not fail to be very agreeable. Suddenly another young man, somewhat older, came toward little Glumeau; they met and stopped just in front of Georget, who, seated upon his stool, with his head in his hands, seemed to be asleep. “Ah! it’s young Astianax Glumeau!” “Good-morning, Monsieur Chambourdin; so you are not at the Palais?” “At the Palais! Why should I be, if you please, young man?” “Why, to plead; I thought that an advocate----” “I am an advocate only in the _Gazette des Tribunaux_. I publish little articles there which I invent for the pleasure of the subscribers. I plead at my leisure, in my office, before my desk, and I am never called to order; that is the way I understand the advocate’s profession. But you, my beardless youth, how does it happen that you are not in the country with papa and mamma? For I presume that your dear parents are still there? In such lovely weather, it is good luck to be in the shade and fresh air!” “Yes, my parents are down at Nogent, and that is just the reason that you find me strolling on the boulevard! Ha! ha! when the parents are in the country I am my own master here; I do just what I choose!”