The game was now at its meridian. Rosalie was uncommonly active, and flew about here and there, much to the harassment of the Pole, who repeatedly wiped his forehead, and observed that it was warm work, and put him in mind of the last sad battle for La Pologne. Monsieur Goupille, who had lately taken lessons in dancing, and was vain of his agility--mounted the chairs and tables, as Rosalie approached--with great grace and gravity. It so happened that, in these saltations, he ascended a stool near the curtain behind which Monsieur and Madame Giraud were ensconced. Somewhat agitated by a slight flutter behind the folds, which made him fancy, on the sudden panic, that Rosalie was creeping that way, the epicier made an abrupt pirouette, and the hook on which the curtains were suspended caught his left coat-tail, “The fatal vesture left the unguarded side;” just as he turned to extricate the garment from that dilemma, Rosalie sprang upon him, and naturally lifting her hands to that height where she fancied the human face divine, took another extremity of Monsieur Goupille’s graceful frame thus exposed, by surprise. “I don’t know who this is. Quelle drole de visage!” muttered Rosalie. “Mais, madame,” faltered Monsieur Goupille, looking greatly disconcerted. The gentle Adele, who did not seem to relish this adventure, came to the relief of her wooer, and pinched Rosalie very sharply in the arm. “That’s not fair. But I will know who this is,” cried Rosalie, angrily; “you sha’n’t escape!” A sudden and universal burst of laughter roused her suspicions--she drew back--and exclaiming, “Mais quelle mauvaise plaisanterie; c’est trop fort!” applied her fair hand to the place in dispute, with so hearty a good-will, that Monsieur Goupille uttered a dolorous cry, and sprang from the chair leaving the coat-tail (the cause of all his woe) suspended upon the hook. It was just at this moment, and in the midst of the excitement caused by Monsieur Goupille’s misfortune, that the door opened, and the attendant reappeared, followed by a young man in a large cloak. The new-comer paused at the threshold, and gazed around him in evident surprise. “Diable!” said Mr. Love, approaching, and gazing hard at the stranger. “Is it possible?--You are come at last? Welcome!” “But,” said the stranger, apparently still bewildered, “there is some mistake; you are not--” “Yes, I am Mr. Love!--Love all the world over. How is our friend Gregg?--told you to address yourself to Mr. Love,--eh?--Mum!--Ladies and gentlemen, an acquisition to our party. Fine fellow, eh?--Five feet eleven without his shoes,--and young enough to hope to be thrice married before he dies. When did you arrive?” “To-day.” And thus, Philip Morton and Mr. William Gawtrey met once more. CHAPTER II. “Happy the man who, void of care and strife, In silken or in leathern purse retains A splendid shilling!”--The Splendid Shilling.