But fancy our delight and astonishment, when in a minute they all three came back again; the Frenchman looking entirely astonished, and the parson and the painter both very queer. The fact is, old downright Lady Pash, who had never been in Paris in her life before, and had no notion of being deprived of her usual hour's respite and nap, said at once to Mrs. Berry, “My dear Angelica, you're surely not going to keep these three men here? Send them back to the dining-room, for I've a thousand things to say to you.” And Angelica, who expects to inherit her aunt's property, of course did as she was bid; on which the old lady fell into an easy chair, and fell asleep immediately,--so soon, that is, as the shout caused by the reappearance of the three gentlemen in the dining-room had subsided. I had meanwhile had some private conversation with little Cutler regarding the character of Mrs. Berry. “She's a regular screw,” whispered he; “a regular Tartar. Berry shows fight, though, sometimes, and I've known him have his own way for a week together. After dinner he is his own master, and hers when he has had his share of wine; and that's why she will never allow him to drink any.” Was it a wicked, or was it a noble and honourable thought which came to us both at the same minute, to rescue Berry from his captivity? The ladies, of course, will give their verdict according to their gentle natures; but I know what men of courage will think, and by their jovial judgment will abide. We received, then, the three lost sheep back into our innocent fold again with the most joyous shouting and cheering. We made Berry (who was, in truth, nothing loth) order up I don't know how much more claret. We obliged the Frenchman to drink malgre lui, and in the course of a short time we had poor Whey in such a state of excitement, that he actually volunteered to sing a song, which he said he had heard at some very gay supper-party at Cambridge, and which begins: “A pye sat on a pear-tree, A pye sat on a pear-tree, A pye sat on a pear-tree, Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, heigh-ho!” Fancy Mrs. Berry's face as she looked in, in the midst of that Bacchanalian ditty, when she saw no less a person than the Reverend Lemuel Whey carolling it! “Is it you, my dear?” cries Berry, as brave now as any Petruchio. “Come in, and sit down, and hear Whey's song.” “Lady Pash is asleep, Frank,” said she. “Well, darling! that's the very reason. Give Mrs. Berry a glass, Jack, will you?” “Would you wake your aunt, sir?” hissed out madame. “NEVER MIND ME, LOVE! I'M AWAKE, AND LIKE IT!” cried the venerable Lady Pash from the salon. “Sing away, gentlemen!” At which we all set up an audacious cheer; and Mrs. Berry flounced back to the drawing-room, but did not leave the door open, that her aunt might hear our melodies.