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“Yes; and you must give him credit for it—for I assure you it has cost him
dear.”

“We will speak of that again, for, believe me, it affords me the greatest
happiness to behold again, in the mind’s eye at least, my mother, my brother, my
country! So, if you’ll tell me your hour—”

“That is rather difficult just now. During the first few days after my
return, I am going to be something of a vagabond. But tell me where I can find
you?”

“Listen,” said he; “to-morrow is Mid-Lent, is it not?”

“To-morrow?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“Do you go to the ball of the Opera?”

“Yes, and no. Yes, if you ask me that to give me a rendezvous there; no—if I
have no other interest to go there.”

“I, for my part, shall have to go. I am obliged to go there.”

“Ah! ha!” said I, with a smile; “I see, as you said awhile ago, that time
blunts the most poignant griefs, and I have no doubt that the wound of your
heart will soon become healed.”

“You are mistaken, for I am probably going to seek there new torments.”

“Don’t go, then.”

“Who in this world does what he wishes to do? I am carried away in spite of
myself; I go where fate impels me. It would be better not to go; I know it—but,
nevertheless, I shall go!”

“Then, till to-morrow!—at the Opera!”

“Just so.”

“At what hour'”

“At half-past twelve—if you will.”

“And where?”

“In the green-room, at one o’clock. I have a rendezvous before the pendule!”

“Agreed!”

We shook hands, and he went rapidly out. Soon after it struck twelve.

As for me, I occupied my whole afternoon and the following day with all those
visits indispensable in a man who has made a journey of eighteen months.

At half-past twelve o’clock, on the appointed day, I was at the rendezvous.

Louis kept me waiting some time. He had followed in the corridor a mask,
which he thought he recognized; but the mask had lost itself in the crowd, and
he could not meet with it again.

I began to speak of Corsica, but Louis was too much disturbed to follow so
grave a subject of conversation. His eyes were constantly fixed on the pendule,
and suddenly he left me, exclaiming— “Ah! there is my bouquet of violets!”

And he plunged into the crowd, in order to approach a female who held an
enormous bunch of violets in her hand.

As, fortunately for the promenaders, there was in the green-room plenty of
bouquets, I was soon accosted myself by a bunch of camelias, which was kind
enough to compliment me on my happy return to Paris.

The bunch of camelias was soon followed by a bunch of large roses.

At last I was just at my fifth bunch, when I met Dujarrier.

“Ah! is that you, mon cher?” said he, “welcome! You arrive in marvelous good
time. We take supper this evening at my house, with this one, and that one,”—he
named to me three or four of our mutual friends—”and we depend on you.”

“A thousand thanks, mon cher,” replied I; “notwithstanding my great desire to
accept your invitation, I cannot do it, as I have some one with me.

“But it seems to me a matter of course that every one has a right to bring
his partner along. It is perfectly well understood that there will be on the
table six water bottles, for the purpose of keeping the bouquets fresh.”

“Ah! my dear friend, you are mistaken. I have no bunch of flowers for your
decanters; I am with a male friend.”

“Well, but you know the proverb, ‘the friend of our friends—’ ”

“He is a young man whom you do not know.”

“Well, we shall become acquainted.”

“I shall propose him this good fortune.”

“Yes; and if he refuses, bring him by force.”

“I’ll do what I can—I promise you. And what is your supper hour?”

“Three o’clock; but as it will last till six, you will have some grace.”

“Very well.”

A bunch of myosotis, who had probably overheard the last part of our
conversation, suddenly took hold of D—’s arm, and disappeared with him.