who have come to luncheon?'

"'Yes,' I stammered, trembling.

"Then, turning toward the house, she cried in an angry tone:

"'Boivin, here is your man!'

"It was my friend's wife. Little Boivin appeared immediately on the
threshold of a sort of barrack of plaster covered with zinc, that looked
like a foot stove. He wore white duck trousers covered with stains and a
dirty Panama hat.

"After shaking my hands warmly, he took me into what he called his
garden. It was at the end of another alleyway enclosed by high walls
and was a little square the size of a pocket handkerchief, surrounded by
houses that were so high that the sun, could reach it only two or three
hours in the day. Pansies, pinks, wallflowers and a few rose bushes
were languishing in this well without air, and hot as an oven from the
refraction of heat from the roofs.

"'I have no trees,' said Boivin, 'but the neighbors' walls take their
place. I have as much shade as in a wood.'

"Then he took hold of a button of my coat and said in a low tone:

"'You can do me a service. You saw the wife. She is not agreeable, eh?
To-day, as I had invited you, she gave me clean clothes; but if I spot
them all is lost. I counted on you to water my plants.'

"I agreed. I took off my coat, rolled up my sleeves, and began to work
the handle of a kind of pump that wheezed, puffed and rattled like a
consumptive as it emitted a thread of water like a Wallace drinking
fountain. It took me ten minutes to water it and I was in a bath of
perspiration. Boivin directed me:

"'Here--this plant--a little more; enough--now this one.'

"The watering pot leaked and my feet got more water than the flowers.
The bottoms of my trousers were soaking and covered with mud. And
twenty times running I kept it up, soaking my feet afresh each time, and
perspiring anew as I worked the handle of the pump. And when I was tired
out and wanted to stop, Boivin, in a tone of entreaty, said as he put
his hand on my arm:

"Just one more watering pot full--just one, and that will be all.'

"To thank me he gave me a rose, a big rose, but hardly had it touched
my button-hole than it fell to pieces, leaving only a hard little green
knot as a decoration. I was surprised, but said nothing.

"Mme. Boivin's voice was heard in the distance:

"'Are you ever coming? When you know that luncheon is ready!'

"We went toward the foot stove. If the garden was in the shade, the
house, on the other hand, was