After him came a lady on the decline. She brought back a volume of memoirs, and she wanted more memoirs; according to her, memoirs were the only proper thing to read. When a lady has passed the age for making conquests, I can understand that memoirs seem instructive to her and also pleasant reading; to her the past has more charm than the present. Being no longer able to tell us of what she does, she desires that we should be interested in what she has done; that is one way to keep people talking about her. After a life of adventures, she considers that to cease to occupy the public attention is a living death. Poor creature! I am sorry for her; she dies twice over. But see how mistaken she is! she falls into oblivion while seeking immortality; and there are some excellent mothers of families, simple, virtuous women, who nevertheless do not die altogether, for all who have known them treasure their images and their memories in the depths of their hearts. The lady of the memoirs went away with eight octavo volumes under her arm. Next came an old gentleman powdered and musked as in the days of the Regency. He wore a little three-cornered hat which did not approach his ears, and a silk muffler over his coat, although it was only the first of October. This gentleman nodded patronizingly to the proprietress and placed two volumes on her desk. “What the devil did you give me this for?” he said; “it’s a wretched, detestable book.” “What! didn’t you like it, monsieur? Why, it has been generally praised.” “I promise you that it will not be praised by me!” “Then monsieur does not want the sequel? There are two more volumes.” “No, indeed, I don’t want the sequel. It was as much as I could do to read three pages.” “Was that enough to enable you to judge?” “Yes, madame; I always judge by the first few lines. I want something good, something useful--a romance of the times of chivalry, for example.” “I have _Amadis de Gaule_.” “I have read that.” “_Geneviève de Cornouailles._” “I’ve read it.” “The _Chevaliers du Cygne_.” “I’ve read it. I’ve read all the old books of that sort. Give me a new one.” “Why, romances of chivalry are seldom written nowadays.” “What’s that! seldom written? Why aren’t they written, pray? You must have some written, madame; you must order some from your novel writers.” “They say that they are no longer in vogue, monsieur.”