“Messieurs,” said Monsieur Roquencourt, “I remember acting in _Le Mariage de Figaro_ with a friend of mine who was in the plight of the husband in the Gazette des Tribunaux. He was playing Almaviva. As everybody knew what had happened to him, you can imagine the personal applications of his lines that were made during the performance. There was much laughter; but for all that he acted very well. I was Figaro. I had the prettiest costume it is possible to imagine; white and cherry colored, all silk and embroidery and spangles. It cost me a great deal! But Dugazon, who saw it, was so delighted with it that he asked me to lend it to him so that he could have one made like it.” At that moment I was overjoyed to hear Monsieur Roquencourt talk about the parts he had acted; I hoped that that would change the subject permanently, and I was about to ask him for some more anecdotes of Dugazon when the infernal old gentleman arrived, newspaper in hand, crying: “Here is the Gazette; I assure you that there are some very amusing details, which one may safely read before ladies, however.” “Does this conversation amuse you?” I asked Caroline in an undertone. “Do you suppose that I listen to these chatterboxes? No indeed; I think that my thoughts are worth quite as much as their words.” As she spoke, she cast a tender glance at me and laid her hand on my arm, for I had taken a seat beside her. I lowered my eyes; I was entirely engrossed by the Gazette des Tribunaux. The old gentleman put on his spectacles and drew near a lamp. We were definitively condemned to listen to the newspaper. There are people who insist upon amusing you against your will. “This is the article, messieurs; it is in the Paris news; and the names are in big letters.” “That is very pleasant for the husband!” said the Spaniard, under his breath; “all Europe will know that he is a cuckold!” “When a husband is foolish enough to go to law about such a bagatelle,” said a young Frenchman, “he well deserves to have the whole world laugh at him.” “Bagatelle!” repeated the Spaniard, “when a man’s honor is involved!” “What a devil of a place has he put his honor in? Ha! ha! It was Beaumarchais who said that, and Beaumarchais had a devilish lot of wit! When I acted his Figaro, I was with----” “I say, messieurs, don’t you want to hear the newspaper?” “Yes, indeed; we are listening.” “‘A case, of common enough occurrence in its general character, but very interesting in its details and in the course of the trial, was heard to-day in the Court of First Instance. Monsieur Ferdinand-Julien Bélan married in June, 1824, Mademoiselle Armide-Constance-Fidèle de Beausire. For several years----’” “Ferdinand Bélan?” I exclaimed, waking from my reverie. All eyes were turned upon me, and someone exclaimed: “Do you know him? Is he a friend of yours? What sort of man is he? Tell us about him.”