had endured since the moment
when she knelt, impressed into service as a lady's-maid, with pins in
her lips, at the feet of her rival Hortense, and arranged her white
satin train, to the hour when Leon, holding his wife by the waist, drew
her towards her, Norine, and the lips of the young couple met almost
upon her very forehead!

[Illustration]

Oh, the odor of the flowers is insupportable, and she is so giddy and
faint.

She fell upon a sofa, unnerved by a frightful headache, her head thrown
back, clasping her forehead with her two hands, but with open eyes
staring always at the door--the door of that chamber which was shut upon
the young couple, closed upon the mystery which was breaking her heart.
A sort of delirium overwhelmed her. How the heavy perfume of those
flowers overpowered her, and how a thousand memories assailed her at
once. She was a child again in the saloon at Argenteuil, and the kind
Parisians came and caressed her. She was embraced by the dear little boy
wearing a white plume in his hat. Rapid pictures flashed upon her soul.
The _pension_ of the Rue de l'Homme Arme, and Mademoiselle Merlin, with
her knitting-needle stuck in her head-dress, pointed with the end of her
stick to the table of weights and measures. The drug-store on Sundays,
all dark, the shutters closed, and she playing catch with Leon among the
barrels and sacks.

Good God! was she losing her head? She could not help humming that
waltz, during which Leon once held her in his arms. She was stifled. Oh,
the flowers! She must go out, or at least open a window. But she could
not rise; her strength had deserted her. Could she die thus? Two iron
fingers seemed to be pressing her temples. Oh, the roses and the
orange-flowers--those orange-flowers above all!

At last she made a great effort. She rose upright and pale--pale as her
white robe. But suddenly her strength left her, and falling first upon
her knees, and then with her head and shoulders upon the wood floor,
poor Norine lay stretched at the threshold of the bridal chamber, killed
by disappointed love and by the flowers.

[Illustration]

MY FRIEND MEURTRIER.

[Illustration: MY FRIEND MEURTIER]

I.

I was at one time employed in a government office. Every day from ten
o'clock until four I became a voluntary prisoner in a depressing office,
adorned with yellow pasteboard boxes, and filled with the musty odor of
old papers. There I lunched on Italian cheese and apple