Good night." The next morning at eight o'clock Marcel entered her room with a pot of flowers that he had gone and bought in the market.

He found Musette, who had thrown herself fully dressed on the bed, and was still sleeping.

At the noise made by him she woke, and held out her hand.
"What a good fellow," said she.
"Good fellow," repeated Marcel, "is not that a term of ridicule ?" "Oh!" exclaimed Musette, "why should you say that to me?
It is not nice.
Instead of saying spiteful things offer me that pretty pot of flowers." "It is, indeed, for you that I have brought them up," said Marcel.

"Take it, and in return for my hospitality sing me one of your songs, the echo of my garret may perhaps retain something of your voice, and I shall still hear you after you have departed." "Oh! so you want to show me the door ?" said Musette.

"Listen, Marcel, I do not beat about the bush to say what my thoughts are.