‘_Nous avons à Londres_,’ said my cousin very slowly and distinctly, breaking what had been a long and nerve-trying silence, ‘_tant de ces--a--postiches_.’ ‘_Pardon?_’ said Madame, with a certain languid interest; ‘_je ne vous ai pas compris, mademoiselle._’ ‘_Oh, sur des murs, vous savez_,’ said my cousin, wavering a little; ‘_des postiches, comme cela_,’--she indicated another orange-coloured placard. ‘_Ah!_’ Madame smiled very faintly. ‘_Des affiches, peut-être?_’ Then it occurred to us that a _postiche_ was a name for a small pad for the hair, and humiliation almost overbore our usual feeble necessity of laughter. [Illustration: ‘NOUS AVONS A LONDRES TANT DE CES--A--POSTICHES.’] After this reverse we relinquished the unequal contest, and fell into a silence, dappled only by occasional topographical inquiries, until, as we turned in at a gateway, Madame de Q. roused herself sufficiently to tell us that we had arrived at her husband’s house. We drove through the wide old-fashioned yard, surrounded by ivy-covered brick buildings, and round a gravel sweep to the front of an imposing white stone house. The coachman ceased from his admonishments at a flight of stone steps, the black horse discontinued his advance, and we dismounted with the feeling that whatever might be before us, it could not be worse than what we had just gone through. The steps led up to a long stone-paved verandah, with handsome white columns supporting it, giving it a certain air of classic distinction; pots of bright scarlet geraniums were ranged along the balustrade, and there was a group of chairs and a small table at one end of the verandah. From these, as we ascended the steps, two gentlemen rose and came forward to meet us. One, a short stout man, unexpectedly attired in a Norfolk jacket and leather gaiters, with a blind eye, and a strong resemblance to the late John Bright, was introduced to us by Madame de Q. as ‘_Mon mari_;’ and the other, a spotty young man in a high-crowned straw hat, clicked his heels together, and made a low bow, while we were informed that he was Madame’s cousin, M. le Vicomte de R. John Bright apologised for the temporary absence of his daughters, and then we sat down and began to talk seriously with him about vines and their culture, while Madame and her cousin discussed in rapid undertones, and with suppressed amusement, some topic that our self-consciousness told us was not unconnected with ourselves.