“I don’t know what the gentleman said,” exclaimed Violette, “but I do know this, Monsieur Chicotin, that you have played the same trick two days in succession on people who were standing in front of my shop; and I propose that it shall stop; if not, I know to whom to complain.” During this exchange of words, young Astianax had risen, with a lump on his forehead, and both knees of his trousers torn; because he wore straps under his feet, which inevitably caused the cloth to tear at the slightest strain. The rents that he saw in his trousers seemed to distress young Astianax; he heaved a deep sigh and muttered: “Sapristi! and it’s only the second time I have worn them!” Thereupon, giving no further thought to the bouquet or to his quarrel, the little fellow walked rapidly away, trying to hold his hands over the holes in his garments, which his short coat did not cover. Meanwhile the elderly gentleman had held the bouquet in his hand, still leaning rather heavily on his cane. “Nobody will dispute possession of these flowers with me any more,” he said at last. “My two rivals have abandoned the ground; it’s a dangerous place, it seems, if I am to believe what that gentleman said.--Ha! ha! you rascal! is it true that you amuse yourself throwing down mademoiselle’s customers?” “Oh, no! it’s only a joke, monsieur!” Chicotin replied slyly; “but I have bad luck, I never hit the ones I aim at.” “Were you aiming at me, pray?” “No, indeed, monsieur; of course not!” “Because, you see, I have the gout, and if you had knocked me down, it might have been a more serious matter for me than for that little man, who ought not to have lost the habit of tumbling yet.” “Oh! monsieur, if I had had that misfortune, I should never have forgiven myself; but I’d have picked you up.” “That would have been most generous on your part; but I prefer that you shouldn’t have any occasion to pick me up. You look to me like a genuine ne’er-do-well; but I don’t dislike knaves of your sort.” “Monsieur’s a good judge.” “Would you like to come with me? I’ll give you an errand to do.” “Yes, monsieur, why not? And you won’t be sorry that you chose me; I do errands in first-class shape!” “Very good! if I am satisfied with you, I will give you my work. What’s your name?” “Chicotin--nicknamed Patatras because----” “Parbleu! I have a shrewd suspicion why you had that name given you, if you always make your entrée as you did just now, by throwing people down.--But this pretty flower girl doesn’t like the way you treat her customers, and she is right.” “Bless me! monsieur,” said Violette, “it’s the second time in two days that he has run into my counter like that.” “It’s the last time, Mamzelle Violette; I promise you I won’t do it again; I’m done.” “This girl is really lovely!” muttered the gentleman, as he paid for his bouquet. “Whom in the devil does she look like? Faith! I’ve known so many!--Follow me,” he said, turning to Chicotin.