He refused to give her his address, but she got it from the shop-keeper, and when she had paid for her purchase, she ran out to take a cab.  The writer went after her, as he did not wish to accept a present for which he could not possibly account.  He reached her just as she was jumping into the vehicle, and getting in after her, he almost fell onto her, and then tumbled onto the bottom of the cab as it started.  He picked himself up, however, and sat down by her side, feeling very much annoyed.

It was no good for him to insist and to beg her; she showed herself intractable, and when they got to the door, she stated her conditions.  “I will undertake not to leave this with you,” she said, “if you will promise to do all I want to-day.”  And the whole affair seemed so funny to him that he agreed.  “What do you generally do at this time?” she asked him; and after hesitating for a few moments, he replied:  “I generally go for a walk.”  “Very well, then, we will go to the Bois de Boulogne!” she said, in a resolute voice, and they started.

He was obliged to tell her the names of all the well-known women, pure or impure, with every detail about them; their life, their habits, their private affairs, and their vices; and when it was getting dusk, she said to him:  “What do you do every day at this time?” “I have some absinthe,” he replied, with a laugh.  “Very well, then, Monsieur,” she went on, seriously, “let us go and have some absinthe.”

They went into a large cafe on the boulevard which he frequented, and where he met some of his colleagues, whom he introduced to her.  She was half mad with pleasure, and she kept saying to herself:  “At last!  At last!” But time went on, and she observed that she supposed it must be about his dinner time, and she suggested that they should go and dine.  When they left Bignon’s, after dinner, she wanted to know what he did in the evening, and looking at her fixedly, he replied:  “That depends; sometimes I go to the theater.”  “Very well, then, Monsieur; let us go to the theater.”

They went to the Vaudeville with an order, thanks to him, and, to her great pride, the whole house saw her sitting by his side, in the balcony stalls.

When the play was over, he gallantly kissed her hand, and said:  “It only remains for me to thank you for this delightful day....”  But she interrupted him:  “What do you do at this time, every night?” “Why ... why ...  I go home.”  She began to laugh, a little tremulous laugh.  “Very well, Monsieur ... let us go to your rooms.”

They did not say anything more.  She shivered occasionally, from head to foot, feeling inclined to stay, and inclined to run away, but with a fixed determination, after all, to see it out to the end.  She was so excited that she had to hold onto the baluster as she went upstairs, and he came up behind her, with a wax match in his hand.