e has joined us in
business."

"I remember him perfectly."

He was going out, feeling very unhappy, though scarcely knowing why, when
madame called him back.

"And how is your friend?" she asked rather shyly.

"He is very well, thank you."

"Please give him our compliments, and beg him to come and call, when he
is in the neighborhood."

She then added: "Tell him it will give me great pleasure."

"I will be sure to do so. Adieu!"

"Do not say that; come again very soon."

The next year, one very hot Sunday, all the details of that adventure,
which Henri had never forgotten, suddenly came back to him so clearly
that he returned alone to their room in the wood, and was overwhelmed
with astonishment when he went in. She was sitting on the grass, looking
very sad, while by her side, still in his shirt sleeves, the young man
with the yellow hair was sleeping soundly, like some animal.

She grew so pale when she saw Henri that at first he thought she was
going to faint; then, however, they began to talk quite naturally. But
when he told her that he was very fond of that spot, and went there
frequently on Sundays to indulge in memories, she looked into his eyes
for a long time.

"I too, think of it," she replied.

"Come, my dear," her husband said, with a yawn. "I think it is time for
us to be going."

ROSE

The two young women appear to be buried under a blanket of flowers. They
are alone in the immense landau, which is filled with flowers like a
giant basket. On the front seat are two small hampers of white satin
filled with violets, and on the bearskin by which their knees are covered
there is a mass of roses, mimosas, pinks, daisies, tuberoses and orange
blossoms, interwoven with silk ribbons; the two frail bodies seem buried
under this beautiful perfumed bed, which hides everything but the
shoulders and arms and a little of the dainty waists.

The coachman's whip is wound with a garland of anemones, the horses'
traces are dotted with carnations, the spokes of the wheels are clothed
in mignonette, and where the lanterns ought to be are two enormous round
bouquets which look as though they were the eyes of this strange,
rolling, flower-bedecked creature.

The landau drives rapidly along the road, through the Rue d'Antibes,
preceded, followed, accompanied, by a crowd of other carriages covered
with flowers, full of women almost hidden by a sea of violets. It is the
flower carnival at Cannes.

The