Ami, vois tu ce peuple immense, Comme il accourt de toutes parts: Des artisans chers à la France Vois-tu flotter les étendards? C’est à l’autel de la Patrie. Que l’amour dirige leurs pas; Tous vont à leur mère chérie Se dévouer jusqu’au trépas. Monsieur Mille recited these lines heroically; he was little, but his gestures were magnificent. He was wearing an amaranth-coloured coat. These circumstances combined to draw attention to him, and by the time he had finished the foregoing he was surrounded by a ring of inquisitive people. He was applauded. In ecstasies, he went on— “Unseal your eyes, direct your minds Upon this solemn spectacle ...”[9] But scarcely had he uttered these words before a lady, decked with an immense black hat and feathers, flung herself into his arms and clasped him close against the fichu she wore round her shoulders. ----- Footnote 9: Ouvre tes yeux, fixe ton âme Sur ce spectacle solennel ... “Ah, how splendid!” she cried. “Monsieur Mille, permit me to embrace you.” A Capuchin who occupied a place in the ring of onlookers, bent his chin down on to his spade and clapped his hands at the sight of such a capacious embrace. Then some of the young patriots who stood by pushed him laughingly in the direction of the demonstrative lady, who transferred her embraces to him in the midst of popular acclamations. Monsieur Mille embraced me, and I embraced Monsieur Mille. “Such splendid lines!” cried the lady with the outrageous hat. “Bravo, Mille! They are worthy of Jean Baptiste.” “Oh!” said Monsieur Mille, bashfully hanging his head, his cheeks round and red as apples. “Yes, absolutely worthy of Jean Baptiste,” repeated Madame. “They must be set to the tune of '_Le serin qui te fait envie._'”[10] ----- Footnote 10: The canary which spurs you to rivalry. ----- “You are too flattering,” Monsieur Mille replied. “Permit me, Madame Berthemet, to present to you my friend Pierre Aubier, a Limousin gentleman. He is a man of parts, and will soon be accustomed to the ways of Paris.” “The dear creature,” Madame Berthemet rejoined, as she pressed my hand. “Let him come to see us. You must bring him, Monsieur Mille. We have a little music always on Thursdays. Is he fond of music? But what a foolish question! Only a barbarian given over to every savage passion could fail to love music. Come this next Thursday, Monsieur Aubier; my daughter Amélie will sing you a ballad.” As she spoke, Madame Berthemet motioned to a young lady dressed in white, with a Greek headdress, whose fair hair and blue eyes seemed to me the loveliest in the world. I blushed as I bowed. But she did not appear to notice my embarrassment.