"Oh, look!" said she, her head still at the window, "there's Monsieur Lhomme. How he does walk!"
"He's got his French horn," added Pauline, leaning out. "What an old fool he is! One would think he was running off to meet his girl!"
Lhomme, with his nose in the air, and his instrument under his arm, was spinning along past the Gymnase Theatre, laughing with delight at the thought of the treat in store for him. He was about to spend the day with a friend, a flautist at a petty theatre, in whose rooms a few amateurs indulged in a little chamber-music on Sundays as soon as breakfast was over.
"At eight o'clock! what a madman!" resumed Pauline. "And you know that Madame Aurélie and her clique must have taken the Rambouillet train that left at half-past six. It's very certain the husband and
