“Ah, yes! pardon me,” said Deflamzi; and then, turning to the old lady in the coach, he continued; “as I was saying, Madam, I had intended asking my old friend, Whisky Frisky, to introduce me before, but the good fortune of—” “Whisky Frisky!” “You see he will have his joke, Madam,” said Tousky Wousky, making a painful effort to smile. “Ha, yes! A wag, I see. Well, I like pleasantry.” “What I was about to say,” resumed Deflamzi, “simply was, that the felicitous accident which has made me acquainted with Mrs. Remnant, enables me to extend in person an invitation, which I had intended sending through our excellent friend Rowdy Powdy. Shall I have the honor of seeing you and your charming daughter, with Mr. Remnant of course, at a small dinner party, which I give at the Globe to-morrow to our distinguished friend here, Count Hoaxy Folksy?” Mrs. Remnant was too much fluttered and flattered by this mark of respect to pay any attention to Deflamzi’s eccentric perversions of his friend’s name. She eagerly accepted the invitation; and Deflamzi took his leave of her and Tousky Wousky, with a significant hint to the latter, that if he did not come too he should be exposed. “Dinner will be on the table at six. _Au revoir!_” said Deflamzi, bowing grotesquely, and strutting down Broadway. “How vastly genteel!” thought Mrs. Remnant. The next day, at the appointed hour, a select party, consisting of the two _counts_, the Remnant family, Mr. Allen, and half a dozen fashionable young men, whom Tousky Wousky remembered to have seen frequently in society, met in one of Blancard’s pleasant parlors. Mrs. Remnant was a little puzzled at encountering Allen; but, remembering that Deflamzi was an “eccentric devil,” she concluded it was all right. The good lady was placed at one end of the table, and Deflamzi took his seat at the other. Tousky Wousky and Sophia Ann sat opposite to each other, near the centre. Soup was handed round in the midst of an animated conversation, in which Deflamzi, however, did not join. His manner toward all but Tousky Wousky seemed singularly constrained and respectful. As the soup was being passed round, a keen eye might have detected a piece of legerdemain practised by one of the waiters, in serving Tousky Wousky. Instead of giving him the plate, which Deflamzi had filled from the tureen, another was placed before him, which seemed to have been whisked in a mysterious manner from a side-table, unnoticed of course by the unsuspecting count. The minute Tousky Wousky tasted his soup, he dropped his spoon with a face expressive of the deepest disgust. “What is the matter, count?” asked Sophia Ann, while a mischievous twinkle was swimming in her dark eyes. “Is it possible you can relish that soup?” inquired Tousky Wousky, regarding her with amazement as she swallowed spoonful after spoonful. “It is very good, is it not?” said Sophy, looking the very picture of sweet simplicity.