The Vicomte had stationed himself opposite to Mademoiselle de Courval, and kept his eyes fixed on her very tenderly. “Mademoiselle, I see, does not approve of such bourgeois diversions,” said he. “No, monsieur,” said the gentle Adele. “But I think we must sacrifice our own tastes to those of the company.” “It is a very amiable sentiment,” said the epicier. “It is one attributed to grandmamma’s papa, the Marquis de Courval. It has become quite a hackneyed remark since,” said Adele. “Come, ladies,” said the joyous Rosalie; “I volunteer my slipper.” “Asseyez-vous donc,” said Madame Beavor to the Pole. “Have you no games of this sort in Poland?” “Madame, La Pologne is no more,” said the Pole. “But with the swords of her brave--” “No swords here, if you please,” said Mr. Love, putting his vast hands on the Pole’s shoulder, and sinking him forcibly down into the circle now formed. The game proceeded with great vigour and much laughter from Rosalie, Mr. Love, and Madame Beavor, especially whenever the last thumped the Pole with the heel of the slipper. Monsieur Giraud was always sure that Madame Giraud had the slipper about her, which persuasion on his part gave rise to many little endearments, which are always so innocent among married people. The Vicomte and the epicier were equally certain the slipper was with Mademoiselle Adele, who defended herself with much more energy than might have been supposed in one so gentle. The epicier, however, grew jealous of the attentions of his noble rival, and told him that he gene’d mademoiselle; whereupon the Vicomte called him an impertinent; and the tall Frenchman, with the riband, sprang up and said: “Can I be of any assistance, gentlemen?” Therewith Mr. Love, the great peacemaker, interposed, and reconciling the rivals, proposed to change the game to Colin Maillard-Anglice, “Blind Man’s Buff.” Rosalie clapped her hands, and offered herself to be blindfolded. The tables and chairs were cleared away; and Madame Beaver pushed the Pole into Rosalie’s arms, who, having felt him about the face for some moments, guessed him to be the tall Frenchman. During this time Monsieur and Madame Giraud hid themselves behind the window-curtain. “Amuse yourself, _mon ami_,” said Madame Beaver, to the liberated Pole. “Ah, madame,” sighed Monsieur Sovolofski, “how can I be gay! All my property confiscated by the Emperor of Russia! Has La Pologne no Brutus?” “I think you are in love,” said the host, clapping him on the back. “Are you quite sure,” whispered the Pole to the matchmaker, “that Madame Beavor has vingt mille livres de rentes?” “Not a sous less.” The Pole mused, and, glancing at Madame Beavor, said, “And yet, madame, your charming gaiety consoles me amidst all my suffering;” upon which Madame Beavor called him “flatterer,” and rapped his knuckles with her fan; the latter proceeding the brave Pole did not seem to like, for he immediately buried his hands in his trousers’ pockets.