"Why, what about those we give among ourselves? And then, in fine weather, there are the drives about the neighborhood, which are beautiful: the little forest of La Rochette, Trois-Moulins, and a thousand delicious spots. And fishing and hunting, and the news of the town; the little intrigues that everybody knows about after a week, the quarrels, the gossip, the comments, the fashions, which we think about here even more than they do in Paris; and the parties, dinners, baptisms, weddings; ah! the weddings above all! they give us something to talk about for a month!--Oh! you'll see, my dear brother, that we have a much better time in the provinces than they do in Paris." My sister did not interrupt her enumeration of the pleasures of provincial life until she saw her husband giving coffee to the little boys, when a slight discussion ensued. "Why do you give those children coffee? it won't do them any good." "Bah!" "It excites them." "Bah!" "And then, they don't sleep at night." "Bah! bah!" "Oh! how you tire me with your _bah! bah!_ I tell you, I don't want them to drink it!" "Just a drop." "It makes no difference." "It's three-fourths milk." "If there were twice as much, it would make no difference.--Come here, messieurs, and don't drink any more." "I want some more!" "Here, my boy, drink this." "Will you obey me this minute!" "Come, come, let them alone." "No, I don't want them to drink it." And my sister seized the cup, her husband held fast to it, and the children squealed. Luckily, between them the cup was broken and the coffee spilled, which fact put an end to this scene of domestic bliss, to which I found it difficult to accustom myself. The day was employed in showing me the town and taking me to see my sister's intimate acquaintances. I let her take me wherever she wished; I was so complaisant and docile that she was enchanted. She found me much more staid and reasonable than at my last visit. After dinner, Déneterre took me to play a game of pool at his café; then we went home to get my sister to go to a reception. It was Thursday, unluckily for me. I had fallen upon the ex-councillor's day, and I saw none but cold, forbidding faces, and stiff, formal figures. Fortunately, the guests did not arrive until half-past eight and left at a quarter to ten, so that the soirée lasted only an hour and a quarter; the first third was occupied in salutations and reverences, the second in exchanging commonplaces and nodding the head in assent, and the last in yawns, concealed with the hand, the handkerchief, or the snuffbox. The next evening belonged to the elector; it compensated me to some extent for the boredom of the preceding one. I found there several pretty women and a little less formality and more merriment. In the course of a week I ran the whole gamut of receptions and knew the whole town. I was well received everywhere; I was rich and unmarried: that was more than was necessary to assure me a warm welcome.