Neither on the first nor on the second occasion did I see Mademoiselle Charnot.
And yet if the Institute does not escort its daughters in shoals to applaud Andromache, where on earth does it take them?
Perhaps nowhere.
Every time I cross the Tuileries Garden I run my eyes over the groups scattered among the chestnut-trees.

I see children playing and falling about; nursemaids who leave them crying; mothers who pick them up again; a vagrant guardsman.

No Jeanne.
To wind up, yesterday I spent five hours at the Bon Marche.
The spring show was on, one of the great occasions of the year; and I presumed, not without an apparent foundation of reason, that no young or pretty Parisian could fail to be there.

When I arrived, about one o'clock, the crowd already filled the vast bazaar.

It was not easy to stand against certain currents that set toward the departments consecrated to spring novelties.