which had suddenly become the dearest object of my desires?

[1] The grisette of twenty years ago, _bien entendu_. I am writing, be
it remembered, of "The days of my youth."

"_Eh bien_, Monsieur Basil," said Josephine, when my first compliments
had been paid. "I am quite ready. Where are we going?"

"We shall dine, _mon cher ange_," said I, absently, "at--let me
see--at...."

"At the Moulin Rouge," interrupted she. "But that is six hours to come.
In the meantime--"

"In the meantime? Ay, in the meantime...what a delightful day for the
time of year!"

"Shall it be Versailles?" suggested Josephine.

"Heaven forbid!"

Josephine opened her large eyes.

"_Mon Dieu!_" said she. "What is there so very dreadful in Versailles?"

I made no reply. I was passing all the suburbs in review before my
mind's eye,--Bellevue, Enghien, Fontenay-aux-Roses, St. Germains,
Sceaux; even Fontainebleau and Compiègne.

The grisette pouted, and glanced at the clock.