“A Madame Laurent,” replied Vincent; “one of those ladies only found at Paris, who live upon anything rather than their income. She keeps a tolerable table, haunted with Poles, Russians, Austrians, and idle Frenchmen, peregrinae gentis amaenum hospitium. As yet, she has not the happiness to be acquainted with any Englishmen, (though she boards one of our countrywomen) and (as she is desirous of making her fortune as soon as possible) she is very anxious of having that honour. She has heard vast reports of our wealth and wisdom, and flatters herself that we are so many ambulatory Indies: in good truth, a Frenchwoman thinks she is never in want of a fortune as long as there is a rich fool in the world. “‘Stultitiam patiuntur, opes,’ is her hope; and “‘Ut tu fortunam, sic nos te, Celse, feremus,’ is her motto.” “Madame Laurent!” repeated I, “why, surely that is the name of Mons. Margot’s landlady.” “I hope not,” cried Vincent, “for the sake of our dinner; he reflects no credit on her good cheer-- “‘Who eats fat dinners, should himself be fat.’” “At all events,” said I, “we can try the good lady for once. I am very anxious to see a countrywoman of ours, probably the very one you speak of, whom Mons. Margot eulogizes in glowing colours, and who has, moreover, taken a violent fancy for my solemn preceptor. What think you of that, Vincent?” “Nothing extraordinary,” replied Vincent; “the lady only exclaims with the moralist-- “‘Love, virtue, valour, yea, all human charms, Are shrunk and centred in that heap of bones. Oh! there are wondrous beauties in the grave!’” I made some punning rejoinder, and we sallied out to earn an appetite in the Tuilleries for Madame Laurent’s dinner. At the hour of half-past five we repaired to our engagement. Madame Laurent received us with the most evident satisfaction, and introduced us forthwith to our countrywoman. She was a pretty, fair, shrewd looking person, with an eye and lip which, unless it greatly belied her, showed her much more inclined, as an amante, to be merry and wise, than honest and true. Presently Monsieur Margot made his appearance. Though very much surprised at seeing me, he did not appear the least jealous of my attentions to his inamorata. Indeed, the good gentleman was far too much pleased with himself to be susceptible of the suspicions common to less fortunate lovers. At dinner I sat next to the pretty Englishwoman, whose name was Green. “Monsieur Margot,” said I, “has often spoken to me of you before I had the happiness of being personally convinced how true and unexaggerated were his sentiments.” “Oh!” cried Mrs. Green, with an arch laugh, “you are acquainted with Monsieur Margot, then?” “I have that honour,” said I. “I receive from him every morning lessons both in love and languages. He is perfect master of both.” Mrs. Green burst out into one of those peals so peculiarly British. “Ah, le pauvre Professeur!” cried she. “He is too absurd!”