This is to every Parisian woman a sort of flower which she
smells at with delight, if she meets it on her way. Nay, certain
women, though faithful to their duties, pretty, and virtuous, come
home much put out if they have failed to cull such a posy in the
course of their walk.
The lady ran upstairs, and in a moment a window on the second floor
was thrown open, and she appeared at it, but accompanied by a man
whose baldhead and somewhat scowling looks announced him as her
husband.
"If they aren't sharp and ingenious, the cunning jades!" thought the
Baron. "She does that to show me where she lives. But this is getting
rather warm, especially for this part of Paris. We must mind what we
are at."
As he got into the _milord_, he looked up, and the lady and the
husband hastily vanished, as though the Baron's face had affected them
like the mythological head of Medusa.
"It would seem that they know me," thought the Baron. "That would
account for everything."
As the carriage went up the Rue du Musee, he leaned forward to see the
lady again, and in fact she was again at the window. Ashamed of being
caught gazing at the hood under which her admirer was sitting, the
unknown started back at once.
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