lady's name."

"And the fourth," inquired Pitou, "what did the fourth suitor do?"

"The fourth suitor waited for her every afternoon in the sunshine,
while the others were at work, and married her with great eclat. The
moral of which is that, instead of cracking my head to make a sonnet to
Claudine, I shall be wise to put on my hat and go to meet her."

"I rejoice that the denoument is arrived at," Pitou returned, "but it
would be even more absorbing if I had previously heard of Claudine."

"Miserable dullard!" cried the poet; "do you tell me that you have not
previously heard of Claudine? She is the only woman I have ever loved."

"A--ah," rejoined Pitou; "certainly, I have heard of her a thousand
times--only she has never been called 'Claudine' before."

"Let us keep to the point," said Tricotrin. "Claudine represents the
devotion of a lifetime. I think seriously of writing a tragedy for her
to appear in."

"I shall undertake to weep copiously at it if you present me with a
pass," affirmed Pitou. "She is an actress, then, this Claudine? At what
theatre is she blazing--the Montmartre?"

"How often I find occasion to lament that your imagination is no larger
than the quartier! Claudine is not of Montmartre at all, at all. My
poor friend, have you never heard that there are theatres on the Grand
Boulevard?"