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THE TWO YOUNG WOMEN had the appearance of being buried in a bed offlowers. They were alone in an immense landau filled with bouquetslike a giant basket. Upon the seat before them were two smallhampers full of Nice violets, and upon the bearskin which coveredtheir knees was a heap of roses, gillyflowers, marguerites,tuberoses and orange flowers, bound together with silk ribbons,which seemed to crush the two delicate bodies, only allowing toappear above the spread-out, perfumed bed the shoulders, arms anda little of their bodices, one of which was blue and the otherlilac.

The coachman's whip bore a sheath of anemones; the horses' headswere decorated with wallflowers; the spokes of the wheels wereclothed in mignonette, and in place of lanterns, there were tworound, enormous bouquets, which seemed like the two eyes of thisstrange, rolling, flowery beast.

The landau went along Antibes Street at a brisk trot, preceded,followed and accompanied by a crowd of other garlanded carriagesfull of women concealed under a billow of violets. For it was theFlower Festival at Cannes

They arrived at the Fonciere Boulevard where the battle took place.The whole length of the immense avenue, a double line of bedeckedequipages was going and coming, like a ribbon without end. Theythrew flowers from one to the other. Flowers passed in the air likeballs, hit the fair faces, hovered and fell in the dust where anarmy of street urchins gathered them.

A compact crowd, clamorous but orderly' looked on, standing in rowsupon the sidewalks and held in place by policemen on horseback whopassed along, pushing back the curious brutally with their feet, inorder that the villains might not mingle with the rich.

Now the people in the carriages recognized each other, called toeach other and bombarded one another with roses. A chariot full ofpretty young women, clothed in red like devils, attracted and heldall eyes. One gentleman who resembled the portraits of Henry IV,threw repeatedly, with joyous ardor, a huge bouquet retained by anelastic. At the threat of the blow the women lowered their headsand hid their eyes, but the gracious projectile only described acurve and again returned to its master, who immediately threw itagain to a new face.

The two young women emptied their arsenal with full hands andreceived a shower of bouquets; then after an hour of battle, alittle wearied at the last, they ordered the coachman to take theroad to the Juan Gulf, which skirts the sea.

The sun disappeared behind the Esterel, outlining in black upon abackground of fire the lacy silhouette of the stretched-outmountain. The calm sea was spread out blue and clear as far as thehorizon, where it mingled with the sky and with the squadronanchored in the middle of the gulf, having the appearance of atroop of monstrous beasts, unmovable upon the water, apocalypticanimals, humpbacked and clothed in coats of mail, capped with thinmasts like plumes and with eyes that lighted up when night came on.

The young women, stretched out under the fur robe, looked upon itlanguidly. Finally one of them said:

"How delicious these evenings are! Everything seems good. Is it notso, Margot?"

The other replied: "Yes, it is good. But there is always something,lacking."

What is it? For my part, I am completely happy. I have need ofnothing."

"Yes? You think so, perhaps. But whatever well-being surrounds ourbodies, we always desire something more--for the heart."

Said the other, smiling: "A little love?"

"Yes."

They were silent, looking straight before them; then the one calledMarguerite said: "Life does not seem supportable to me withoutthat. I need to be loved, if only by a dog. And we are all so,whatever you may say, Simone."

"No, no, my dear. I prefer not to be loved at all than to be lovedby no one of importance. Do you think, for example, that it wouldbe agreeable to me to be loved by--by---"

She looked for someone by whom she could possibly be loved, castingher eyes over the neighboring country. Her eyes, after having madethe tour of the whole horizon, fell upon the two metal buttonsshining on the coachman's back, and she continued, laughing, "By mycoachman?"

Mlle Marguerite scarcely smiled as she replied:

"I can assure you it is very amusing to be loved by a domestic.This has happened to me two or three times. They roll their eyes soqueerly that one is dying to laugh. Naturally, the more one isloved, the more severe she becomes, since otherwise, one putsherself in the way of being made ridiculous for some very slightcause, if anyone happened to observe it."

Mlle Simone listened, her look fixed straight before her; then shedeclared:

"No, decidedly, the heart of my valet at my feet would not appearto me sufficient. But tell me how you perceived that you wereloved."

"I perceived it in them as I do in other men; they become sostupid!"

"But others do not appear so stupid to me when they are in love."

"Idiots, my dear, incapable of chatting, of answering, ofcomprehending anything."

"And you? What effect did it have on you to be loved by a domestic?Were you moved--flattered?"

"Moved? No. Flattered? Yes, a little. One is always flattered bythe love of a man, whoever he may be."

"Oh, now, Margot!"

"Yes, my dear. Wait! I will tell you a singular adventure thathappened to me. You will see what curious things take place amongus in such cases.

"It was four years ago in the autumn, when I found myself withouta maid. I had tried five or six, one after the other, all of themincompetent, and almost despaired of finding one, when I read inthe advertisements of a newspaper of a young girl knowing how tosew, embroider and dress hair, who was seeking a place and couldfurnish the best of references. She could also speak English.

"I wrote to the address given, and the next day the person inquestion presented herself. She was rather tall, thin, a littlepale, with a very timid air. She had beautiful black eyes, acharming color, and she pleased me at once. I asked for herreferences; she gave me one written in English, because she hadcome, she said, from the house of Lady Ryswell, where she had beenfor ten years.

"The certificate attested that the girl was returning to France ofher own will and that she had nothing to reproach her for duringher long service with her, except a little of the Frenchcoquettishness.

"The modest turn of the English phrase made me smile a little, andI engaged the maid immediately. She came to my house the same day;she called herself Rose.

"At the end of a month I adored her. She was a treasure, a pearl,phenomenon.

"She could dress my hair with exquisite taste; she could flute thelace of a cap better than the best of the professionals, and shecould make frocks. 1 was amazed at her ability. Never had I been sowell served.

"She dressed me rapidly with an astonishing lightness of hand. Inever felt her fingers upon my skin, and nothing is moredisagreeable to me than contact with a maid's hand. I immediatelygot into excessively idle habits, so pleasant was it to let herdress me from head to foot, from chemise to gloves--this tall,timid girl, always blushing a little and never speaking. After mybath she would rub me and massage me while I slept a little whileon my divan; indeed, I came to look upon her more as a friend inpoorer circumstances than a servant.

"One morning the concierge, with some show of mystery, said hewished to speak to me. I was surprised but let him enter. He was anold soldier, once orderly for my husband.

"He appeared to hesitate at what he was going to say. Finally hesaid stammeringly: 'Madame, the police captain for this district isdownstairs.'

"I asked: 'What does he want?'

"'He wants to search the house.'

"Certainly the police are necessary, but I do detest them. I nevercan make it seem a noble profession. And I answered, irritated aswell as wounded:

"'Why search here? For what purpose? There has been no burglary?'

He answered:

"'He thinks that a criminal is concealed somewhere here.'

"I began to be a little afraid and ordered the police captain to bebrought that I might have some explanation. He was a man ratherwell brought up and decorated with the Legion of Honor. He excusedhimself, asked my pardon. then asserted that I had among myservants a convict!

"I was thunderstruck and answered that I could vouch for every oneof them and that I would make a review of them for hissatisfaction.

"'There is Peter Courtin, an old soldier.'

"It was not he.

"'The coachman, Francis Pingau, a peasant, son of my father'sfarmer.'

"It was not he.

"'A stableboy, also from Champagne and also a son of peasants I hadknown, and no more except the footman, whom you have seen.'

"It was not any of them.

"'Then, sir, you see that you have been deceived.'

"'Pardon me, madame, but I am sure I am not deceived. As he has notat all the appearance of a criminal, will you have the goodness tohave all your servants appear here before you and me, all of them?'

"I hesitated at first, then I yielded, summoning all my people, menand women.

"He looked at them all for an instant, then declared:

"'This is not all.'

"'Your pardon, sir,' I replied; 'this is all, except my own maidwho could not possibly be confounded with a convict.'

"He asked: 'Could I see her too?'

"'Certainly.'

"I rang and Rose appeared immediately. Scarcely had she enteredwhen he gave a signal, and two men, whom I had not seen, concealedbehind the door, threw themselves upon her, seized her hands andbound them with cords.

"I uttered a cry of fury and was going to try and defend her. Thecaptain stopped me:

"'This girl, madame, is a man who calls himself John NicholasLecapet, condemned to death in 1879 for assassination preceded byviolation. His sentence was changed to life imprisonment. Heescaped four months ago. We have been on the search for him eversince.'

"I was dismayed, struck dumb. I could not believe it. The policemancontinued, laughing:

"'I can only give you one proof. His right arm is tattooed.'

"His sleeve was rolled up. It was true. The policeman added,certainly in bad taste:

"'Doubtless you will be satisfied without the other proofs.'

"And he led away my maid!

"Well, if you will believe it, the feeling which was uppermost inme was that of anger at having been played with in this way,deceived and made ridiculous; it was not shame at having beendressed, undressed, handled and touched by this man,but--a--profound humiliation--the humiliation of a woman. Do youunderstand?"

"No, not exactly."

"Let us see. Think a minute. He had been condemned--for violation,this young man--and that--that humiliated me--there! Now do youunderstand?"

And Mlle Simone did not reply. She looked straight before her, withher eyes singularly fixed upon the two shining buttons of thelivery and with that sphinx's smile that women have sometimes.