“To listen to you, one would think that no one ever called upon a lady except with the design of making a conquest.” “Oh! you see I know you. Come, Blémont, sacrifice your ladies to me; consider that I am between life and death so long as I do not know what to expect.” “To oblige you, I will go to Giraud’s.” “You are a friend indeed. It is almost nine o’clock, and the reception is just at its height. To-night there is to be singing and playing. Be prudent, and if our couple are there, watch them closely.” “I’m like the confidential friend in a melodrama.” “I will wait for you at the café on the corner of the boulevard; I will drink a glass of sugar and water. If everything goes well, if I can safely show myself, you will have the kindness to tell me so.” “Very good.” We quickened our pace, and when we reached the corner of Rue Poissonnière, Bélan grasped my hand and shook it violently. “My friend,” he said, “I will wait for you at the café opposite. Don’t say that I am there, don’t mention my name.” “Never fear.” I had taken a few steps when I felt someone grasp me from behind; it was Bélan again; he had run after me, and he said most earnestly: “My dear Blémont, I trust that this adventure will cause you to reflect seriously, that it will reform you as it will me. We must mend our ways, my friend. For my own part, I swear on the faith of Ferdinand Bélan, that the loveliest woman in Paris, if she is not free----” I did not wait for the end of the little man’s sermon; I smiled and left him, and walked up the street toward Monsieur Giraud’s. III THE GIRAUD FAMILY Monsieur Giraud’s was a most amusing household; there was nothing extraordinary about it, however, for the absurdities that one met with there are common in society; but in order to be comical, things never need to be extraordinary. Monsieur Giraud was a man of forty years of age; he had been a government clerk, a notary’s clerk, a lottery collector; he had done many things, and I fancy that he had done nothing well; but he was as prying and inquisitive as a concierge, and he even pretended to be a ladies’ man, although he was very ugly and his breath made his coming perceptible three yards away; which did not prevent him from speaking right into your face, the ordinary mania of people who have that infirmity. Madame Giraud was about her husband’s age. She was neither ugly nor beautiful; but unfortunately she was as pretentious as he, she always dressed like a provincial actress, and above all was determined to appear slender, at the risk of being unable to breathe.