“What a turkey we have just eaten at the Comtesse Diane’s! My goodness, what a fine bird! M. de Poix had sent it from the poultry-yard. There were eight of us round it: the lady of the house, Madame la Comtesse Jules, Madame d’Henin, and Madame de la Force; M. le Comte d’Artois, M. de Vaudreuil, the Chevalier de Crussol, and myself. “While we were eating the turkey, but without reference to it, some one mentioned you, my Prince. Stay, let me recall who it was? A lady----no; a man--yes, certainly a man, for he said _Charlot_, and our ladies are not given to such familiarities. It was the man who was on Madame la Comtesse Jules’ left hand. Let me see; I was next to the poet; here sat the Chevalier de Crussol, and there M. de Vaudreuil, and then----Ah! now I’ve got it, it was M. le Comte d’Artois; yes, I am sure of it now. He said: ‘By the bye, who can tell me if Charlot has arrived at Brussels?’--‘I can, your Highness, for I have received four lines in his own handwriting, and am myself going to write to him; who has any message to send?’ All immediately answered in a chorus: ‘I have, I have, I have.’ In the confusion I could distinguish these words: ‘I embrace him, I love him; tell him to come, we expect him.’ When the hubbub had subsided the soft voice of Madame la Comtesse Jules commenced more audibly: ‘Tell him that if he had dated his last letter more distinctly, I would not have failed to answer it; but that, although assisted by several experts in the art of deciphering, it was impossible for me even to suspect from what place it had been written, and consequently to what place I should direct my own.’