is for?"

"For the bourgeois who lives there." replied he, pointing out to Chicot
his own house.

"Decidedly it is for me!" thought he. "Whom do you belong to?" he asked.

"To the bourgeois who lives there."

"Ah! they not only come for me, but they belong to me--still better.
Well! we shall see," and piercing through the crowd, he opened his door,
went upstairs, and appeared at his balcony, in which he placed a chair
and sat down.

"Gentlemen," said he, "are you sure there is no mistake? is all this
really for me?"

"Are you M. Robert Briquet?"

"Himself."

"Then we are at your service, monsieur," said the leader of the band,
giving the sign to recommence.

"Certainly it is unintelligible," thought Chicot. He looked around; all
the inhabitants of the street were at their windows, excepting those of
the opposite house, which, as we have said, remained dark and quiet. But
on glancing downward, he saw a man wrapped in a dark cloak, and who wore
a black hat with a red feather, leaning against the portico of his own
door, and looking earnestly at the opposite house.

The leader of the band just then quitted his post and spoke softly to
this man, and Chicot instantly guessed that here lay all the interest of
the scene. Soon after, a gentleman on horseback, followed by two
squires, appeared at the corner of the street, and pushed his way
through the crowd, while the music stopped.

"M. de Joyeuse," murmured Chicot, who recognized him at once.

The cavalier approached the gentleman under the balcony.

"Well! Henri," said he, "what news?"

"Nothing, brother."--"Nothing?"

"No; she has not even appeared."

"They have not made noise enough."

"They have roused all the neighborhood."

"They did not cry as I told them, that it was all in honor of this
bourgeois."

"They cried it so loud, that there he is, sitting in his balcony,
listening."

"And she has not appeared?"

"Neither she, nor any one."

"The idea was ingenious, however, for she might, like the rest of the
people, have profited by the music given to her neighbor."

"Ah! you do not know her, brother."

"Yes, I do; or at all events I know women, and as she is but a woman, we
will not despair."

"Ah! you say that in a discouraged tone, brother."

"Not at all; only give the bourgeois his serenade every night."

"But she will go away."

"Not if you do not speak to her, or seem to be doing it on her account,
and remain concealed. Has the