The guests were somewhat intimidated by the black-coated waiters, who disdainfully looked at these poor people who were dining at a dollar per head, a sum which each one of the guests thought of with respect, and envied Belisaire who could afford such an extravagant entertainment. The waiters were, however, filled with profound contempt, which they expressed by winks at each other, invisible however to the guests. Belisaire had just at his side one of these gentlemen, who filled him with holy horror; another, opposite behind his wife’s chair, watched him so disagreeably that the good man scarcely dared lift his eyes from the _carte_,—on which, among familiar words like ducks, chickens, and beans, appeared the well-known names of generals, towns, and battles—Marengo, Richelieu, and so on. Bélisaire, like the others, was stupefied, the more so when two plates of soup were presented with the question, “Bisque, or Purée de Crécy?” Or two bottles: “Xeres, or Pacaset, sir?” They answered at hazard as one does in some of those society games where you are requested to select one of two flowers. In fact, the answer was of little consequence since both plates contained the same tasteless mixture. There was so much ceremony that the dinner threatened to be very dull, and interminable as well, from the indecision of the guests as to the dishes they should accept. It was Madame Weber’s clear head and decided hand that cut this Gordian knot. She turned to her child. “Eat everything,” she said, “it costs us enough.” These words of wisdom had their effect on the whole assembly, and after a little the table was gay enough. Suddenly the door was thrown open, and Ida de Barancy entered, smiling and charming. “A thousand pardons, my friends, but I had a carriage that crept.” She wore her most beautiful dress, for she rarely had an opportunity nowadays of making a toilette, and produced a most extraordinary effect. The way in which she took her seat by Belisaire, and put her gloves in a wineglass, the manner in which she signed to one of the waiters to bring her the carte, overwhelmed the assembly with admiration. It was delightful to see her order about those imposing waiters. One of them she had recognized, the one who terrified Bélisaire so much. “You are here then, now!” she said carelessly; and shook her bracelets, and kissed her hand to her son, asked for a footstool, some ice, and eau-de-Seltz, and soon knew the resources of the establishment. “But, good heavens, you are not very gay here!” she cried suddenly. She rose, took her plate in one hand, her glass in the other. “I ask permission to change places with Madame Bélisaire; I am quite sure that her husband will not complain.”