“Sir,” said the tall Frenchman with the riband, eying the epicier with great disdain, “you say you are for the Restoration--I am for the Empire--Moi!” “No politics!” cried Mr. Love. “Let us adjourn to the salon.” The Vicomte, who had seemed supremely ennuye during this dialogue, plucked Mr. Love by the sleeve as he rose, and whispered petulantly, “I do not see any one here to suit me, Monsieur Love--none of my rank.” “Mon Dieu!” answered Mr. Love: “point d’ argent point de Suisse. I could introduce you to a duchess, but then the fee is high. There’s Mademoiselle de Courval--she dates from the Carlovingians.” “She is very like a boiled sole,” answered the Vicomte, with a wry face. “Still--what dower has she?” “Forty thousand francs, and sickly,” replied Mr. Love; “but she likes a tall man, and Monsieur Goupille is--” “Tall men are never well made,” interrupted the Vicomte, angrily; and he drew himself aside as Mr. Love, gallantly advancing, gave his arm to Madame Beavor, because the Pole had, in rising, folded both his own arms across his breast. “Excuse me, ma’am,” said Mr. Love to Madame Beavor, as they adjourned to the salon, “I don’t think you manage that brave man well.” “Ma foi, comme il est ennuyeux avec sa Pologne,” replied Madame Beavor, shrugging her shoulders. “True; but he is a very fine-shaped man; and it is a comfort to think that one will have no rival but his country. Trust me, and encourage him a little more; I think he would suit you to a T.” Here the attendant engaged for the evening announced Monsieur and Madame Giraud; whereupon there entered a little--little couple, very fair, very plump, and very like each other. This was Mr. Love’s show couple--his decoy ducks--his last best example of match-making; they had been married two months out of the bureau, and were the admiration of the neighbourhood for their conjugal affection. As they were now united, they had ceased to frequent the table d’hote; but Mr. Love often invited them after the dessert, pour encourager les autres. “My dear friends,” cried Mr. Love, shaking each by the hand, “I am ravished to see you. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Monsieur and Madame Giraud, the happiest couple in Christendom;--if I had done nothing else in my life but bring them together I should not have lived in vain!” The company eyed the objects of this eulogium with great attention. “Monsieur, my prayer is to deserve my bonheur,” said Monsieur Giraud. “Cher ange!” murmured Madame: and the happy pair seated themselves next to each other. Mr. Love, who was all for those innocent pastimes which do away with conventional formality and reserve, now proposed a game at “Hunt the Slipper,” which was welcomed by the whole party, except the Pole and the Vicomte; though Mademoiselle Adele looked prudish, and observed to the epicier, “that Monsieur Lofe was so droll, but she should not have liked her pauvre grandmaman to see her.”