her.

One would have said there was more than the width of a theatre between
them--one would have said the distance was interminable. Who in the
audience could suspect that Florozonde would have been unknown but for
a boy in the Promenoir?

Yes, he fell in love--with her beauty, her grace--perhaps also with the
circumstances. The theatre rang with plaudits; the curtain hid her; and
he went out, dizzy with romance. He could not hope to speak to her
to-night, but he was curious to see her when she left. He decided that on
the morrow he would call upon de Fronsac, whom she doubtless knew now,
and ask him for an introduction. Promising himself this, he reached the
stage door--where de Fronsac, with trembling limbs, stood giving thanks
for his self-control.

"My friend!" cried Pitou enthusiastically, "how rejoiced I am to meet
you!" and nearly wrung his hand off.

"Aie! Gently!" expostulated de Fronsac, writhing. "Aie, aie! I did not
know you loved me so much. So you are back from Sweden, hein?"

"Yes. I have not been there, but why should we argue about geography?
What were you doing as I came up--reciting your poems? By the way, I
have a favour to ask; I want you to introduce me to Florozonde."

"Never!" answered the poet firmly; "I have too much affection for you--
I have just resolved not to see her again myself. Besides, I thought
you knew her in the circus?"