There were about twenty or thirty persons assembled, of different ages, and of different sexes. Having heard so much of french gayety, I was astonished at the melancholy countenances I saw around me, and at the general stupidity of this party. In one corner was placed a whist table, at which, two _ci-devant_ countesses, a member of _l’ancienne académie française_, and a former _financier_ were disputing for _sous_. There were round the fire, two rows of _fauteuils_, or arm chairs, in which the ladies not occupied with cards, were seated in awful state. Two or three young men dressed _à l’anglaise_, with the preposterous addition of immense neckcloths, ear rings, and half a dozen under waistcoats, lounged about the middle of the room, and now and then caught a glimpse at their favourite persons, in an adjoining glass. The fire was monopolized by a party of zealous disputants, who, turning their backs to the company, and talking all together, formed a separate group, or rather a debating society, round the chimney. From the loudness of their voices, and the violence of their gestures, I supposed they were discussing some great national question, and expecting to gain much useful intelligence, listened with all the painful attention of extreme curiosity. I soon discovered, to my no small astonishment, that it was not the fate of the nation, but the accuracy of an expression, which excited their zeal. The abbé Delille had, it seems, in a poem lately published, used this phrase, “Je n’entends que silence, je ne vois que la nuit[30].” Whether it was possible “to hear silence,” and “see night,” was the great subject of dispute: and the metaphysical distinctions, nice definitions, and pedantic remarks, which this question excited, formed a curious specimen of the french character. Some of the ladies joined in the debate; and I know not to what height it might have been carried, had not the arrival of the _thé_ interrupted the orators, and stopped the conversation, with a subject more agreeable to the general taste.