These last words were uttered by a gentleman of mature years, dressed with some elegance, whose bearing, whose manners, and whose smile even, instantly pointed him out as one who frequented the best society. His features were regular, refined and distinguished; but they also indicated that their owner had taken a great deal out of life; his face was worn, the flesh beneath his eyes was puffed out, his forehead and cheeks were furrowed with wrinkles. In a word, he was naught but a remnant of a very good-looking man, but he still had the _comme il faut_ manner, the intelligent eye, and the slightly impertinent and satirical tone. This individual was leaning on a very handsome cane, holding in his right hand an eyeglass through which he was examining Violette; he had paused in front of her booth and listened to her last words; and with his eyes fixed upon her lovely face, he muttered between his teeth: “It’s strange! there is a resemblance--to whom I can’t say; but I know a face like that.” Jéricourt and little Astianax were greatly surprised when they saw the newcomer take the bouquet from the girl’s hands, saying: “How much for this bouquet?” “Three francs, monsieur.” “Three francs! Pardieu! that’s nothing at all; bouquets seem to be cheap in this quarter. I’ll take it. Here, my pretty flower girl, pay yourself.” And he handed Violette a five-franc piece; whereupon little Astianax stood on tiptoe and cried: “But I bargained for that bouquet before you did, monsieur, and I am going to buy it. You can’t purchase it, not you.” The gentleman contented himself with a disdainful glance at the young man as he repeated: “Here, my girl, pay yourself.” At this point Jéricourt thought fit to take part in the discussion. He stepped between Astianax and the stranger, and, assuming a self-sufficient tone, remarked to the latter: “I was the first one who negotiated for that bouquet; so the flower girl has no right to sell it to anybody else, as I am ready to pay the price she asked. Be kind enough to give it to me, monsieur;--do you understand?” The elderly gentleman simply turned his eyeglass on Jéricourt, and holding his head a little sidewise, said with an ironical smile: “When I was your age, monsieur, I never allowed anything that I had in hand to be taken from me, and I have clung to that habit as I grew older;--do you understand?” The gentleman’s self-assured manner and the tone of persiflage in which he made this retort surprised our man of letters, who did not know just what to do; but it was not so with little Astianax, who was furious because the stranger seemed to pay no heed to him, to treat him like a child. He stepped up to him, looked him in the face as well as he could, and shouted, in a voice which anger made exceedingly shrill: “I don’t know why monsieur didn’t answer me! You see, I don’t allow myself to be insulted! I don’t propose to be treated like a child, I don’t! I have plenty of spunk, I have!”