And Monsieur de Brevanne walked along, examining all the flower dealers. He saw some who were old and others who were not pretty. Beauty is a rarer thing than is generally supposed. Go into a theatre, and turn your opera glass in all directions: sometimes out of six hundred women in the audience, you will not find a single one who is really beautiful. Let us not be surprised at the vast number of conquests that pretty women make, for their number is very, very small. The count walked on, not surprised at not seeing Georget, as there seemed to be no fascinating flower girls. But as he drew near the Chateau d'Eau, a lovely face instantly attracted his eyes. It belonged to a flower girl, and she was probably the one he sought. Georget was not there, however; but the girl was so lovely that it was impossible that there could be another among the dealers in flowers that could be compared with her. Monsieur de Brevanne stopped in front of the flower girl, and gazed at her with an interest which became deeper with every moment; as he scrutinized her features, he was conscious of an emotion which he could not comprehend at first; the girl reminded him of someone; he searched his memory for a moment, but it did not take long to decide whose portrait he saw in the girl. "What an extraordinary resemblance!" said the count to himself, his eyes still fastened upon Violette's face, for it was her booth at which he had stopped. "This girl has all Lucienne's features, but Lucienne's features when I was paying court to her, when she was not my wife; only, Lucienne had a merry expression, a smile always on her lips, and this girl has a melancholy look, her brow is careworn; but probably she is not always thus. Is it a delusion of my senses? No, that profile, that nose, the outlines of the face--it is impossible for two persons to resemble each other more closely. And is this the Violette with whom Georget is in love? It must be she; but no matter, I must make certain." The count walked to the flower girl's booth, picked up a bunch of roses and asked the price. Violette replied, and her voice made a profound impression upon the count, for that too was his wife's. He bent so piercing a glance upon the girl that she was confused and lowered her lovely eyes. "I beg pardon, mademoiselle," said the count, as he paid for his roses; "but perhaps you can assist me in finding the person for whom I am looking; it is a young flower girl named Violette." "Violette--why, I am Violette, monsieur." "Ah! are you she?" "There is nobody else of that name in this market." "Oh! I believe you; indeed, I suspected that you must be the one." "What do you wish of me, monsieur?" "It will seem strange to you, mademoiselle, but I was looking for you in order to find another person." "I don't understand you, monsieur." "I will explain myself: I have with me now, at my place in the country, a young fellow who used to be a messenger, and whose stand was on this boulevard."