During this pleasant conversation, I amused myself by examining the four gentlemen. One, who was short, stout, and red-headed, contented himself with laughing at every sally of the others, but did not venture to add any of his own. He who talked most was a little man of some fifty years, who tried to outdo the younger men by assuming the airs of a rake and uttering all the obscenities that came into his head. A thin, pallid young man, whose hollow, lifeless eyes betrayed his abuse of life, was stretched out in an easy-chair, and swayed to and fro as he addressed an occasional senseless rhapsody to the jocose Raymond, who was in his element. A tall, bulky individual, with large oxlike eyes and a nose that would have put a colocynth to shame, completed the circle, which, in my opinion, lacked only Monsieur le Baron de Witcheritche. At last a door at the end of the room opened and Monsieur de Grandmaison appeared, dragging his leg after him. But he was alone. "Where is she? where is she?" cried all the guests, with one voice. "One moment! one moment, pray! you'll see her in a moment. She is giving a little attention to her toilet. When I told her that she was to sup with some friends of mine, she didn't want to appear in négligé; and then, too, I am not sorry to let her see all the presents I have for her. I left her with a lady's-maid. A little patience and some punch--that will help us to wait for our supper." Raymond presented me to Monsieur de Grandmaison, who exhausted himself in commonplace felicitations upon my kindness in honoring his little party. I answered in fear and trembling, lest he should recognize me; but my apprehension soon vanished; I saw that Monsieur de Grandmaison needed his opera glass to distinguish objects. An enormous bowl of punch was brought, and the gentlemen did it so much honor that I was very doubtful what their condition would be at supper. The tall man with the stupid face, whom the others called _milord_, did nothing but fill his glass and empty it; while the little red-headed fellow, whom I heard them call Zamorin, stuffed himself with macaroons, cake, and biscuits, to assist him to wait for the supper. The old rake and the languid young man questioned Grandmaison concerning his new mistress's features; and the host went into her charms in detail, promising to inform them more fully on the morrow. "What shall we call her?" inquired Raymond. "Her name is Madame Saint-Léon. A pretty name, isn't it, messieurs?" "Yes, very pretty. I think a great deal of the name myself." "Has she any children?" "Idiot! didn't I tell you that she was almost a novice?" "True; but _almost_ doesn't mean that----" "Nonsense! hold your tongue, Raymond; you insult innocence!" said Monsieur Rocambolle, the old rake. "I am sure that Grandmaison found this woman at Les Vertus."