“‘Perfectly true; and what is more, I consider Mr Robinson under an obligation to me. Persons of his sort are too happy to get people like us to go to their routs and help them to devour their dollars. But we do not on that account become one of them; that, _parbleu_! would never do. Thank heaven! even in these days of equality we have not come to that. An unknown individual arrives at Paris, having made his fortune in India, Peru, or Chili, in the slave-trade, in cotton, or in tallow. All well and good; I have nothing to do with it. I go to his balls, I eat his suppers; but I do not know him the more for that.’ “‘You have your theory, I have mine,’ replied Vassigny; ‘each of us thinks his own the best, I suppose.’ “‘Come, come, confess candidly that you wish to do the eccentric,’ said Movillez. ‘Well, for your government, that little gentleman in the black coat, leaning against the chimney-piece, is the Robinson. He is very ugly. I am heartily sorry the Marchioness de Presle did not suggest to him to adopt the costume of his patron saint. The pointed hat and palm-leaf inexpressibles would become him admirably. As to the ball, it is tolerably brilliant: there is a good deal of faubourg St Germain and faubourg St Honoré. _Dame!_ there are other sorts too--a little finance, some beauties from the citizen-court, a few prudes from the Bal Rambuteau. The company is mixed, certainly, but still it is astonishing that this exotic has been able to collect so many people of fashion. You know the report about _il Signor_ Robinson, that he was ten years in prison at Philadelphia? Yes, he is an interesting victim of human injustice; I am assured he reasons most eloquently on the penitentiary system.’ “These silly and slanderous jokes seemed any thing but agreeable to the two persons to whom they were addressed. “‘Is your father’s counting-house still in the Rue Lepelletier?’ said Vassigny, with freezing _sang froid_. ‘I want some bills on London, and shall give him my custom in preference to any other banker.’ “These words brought a vivid flush to the cheek of the young dandy; he replied only by an affirmative sign, left the two friends, and entered the dancing-room. “‘Do you know, Gaston,’ said Marsanne, ‘little Movillez was any thing but well pleased by your promising his father your custom?’ “‘I both know and am delighted at it. The little puppy forgot, when he sneered at the beauties of the citizen-court, that my sister belongs to the household of the Duchess of.... I was very glad to remind him that his father is neither more nor less than a banker, and that it takes something more than a white rose in the buttonhole to make a Montmorency or a Biron. But I must leave you.’