The Frenchman, I forgot to say, had gone away exceedingly ill long before; and the reminiscences of “Thursday” and “Saturday” evoked by Dobus and Whey, were, to tell the truth, parts of our conspiracy; for in the heat of Berry's courage, we had made him promise to dine with us all round en garcon; with all except Captain Goff, who “racklacted” that he was engaged every day for the next three weeks: as indeed he is, to a thirty-sous ordinary which the gallant officer frequents, when not invited elsewhere. Cutler and I then were the last on the field; and though we were for moving away, Berry, whose vigour had, if possible, been excited by the bustle and colloquy in the night air, insisted upon dragging us back again, and actually proposed a grill for supper! We found in the salle-a-manger a strong smell of an extinguished lamp, and Mrs. Berry was snuffing out the candles on the sideboard. “Hullo, my dear!” shouts Berry: “easy, if you please; we've not done yet!” “Not done yet, Mr. Berry!” groans the lady, in a hollow sepulchral tone. “No, Mrs. B., not done yet. We are going to have some supper, ain't we, George?” “I think it's quite time to go home,” said Mr. Fitz-Boodle (who, to say the truth, began to tremble himself). “I think it is, sir; you are quite right, sir; you will pardon me, gentlemen, I have a bad headache, and will retire.” “Good-night, my dear!” said that audacious Berry. “Anatole, tell the cook to broil a fowl and bring some wine.” If the loving couple had been alone, or if Cutler had not been an attache to the embassy, before whom she was afraid of making herself ridiculous, I am confident that Mrs. Berry would have fainted away on the spot; and that all Berry's courage would have tumbled down lifeless by the side of her. So she only gave a martyrised look, and left the room; and while we partook of the very unnecessary repast, was good enough to sing some hymn-tunes to an exceedingly slow movement in the next room, intimating that she was awake, and that, though suffering, she found her consolations in religion. These melodies did not in the least add to our friend's courage. The devilled fowl had, somehow, no devil in it. The champagne in the glasses looked exceedingly flat and blue. The fact is, that Cutler and I were now both in a state of dire consternation, and soon made a move for our hats, and lighting each a cigar in the hall, made across the little green where the Cupids and nymphs were listening to the dribbling fountain in the dark. “I'm hanged if I don't have a cigar too!” says Berry, rushing after us; and accordingly putting in his pocket a key about the size of a shovel, which hung by the little handle of the outer grille, forth he sallied, and joined us in our fumigation.