“Wife,” said Mr. Van Astrachan, coming to Mrs. V. confidentially a day or two after, “I wonder if you remember any of your French. What is a _liaison_?” “Really, dear,” said Mrs. Van Astrachan, whose reading of late years had been mostly confined to such memoirs as that of Mrs. Isabella Graham, Doddridge’s “Rise and Progress,” and Baxter’s “Saint’s Rest,” “it’s a great while since I read any French. What do you want to know for?” “Well, there’s Ben Stuyvesant was saying this morning, in Wall Street, that there’s a great deal of talk about that Mrs. Follingsbee and that young fellow whose baby’s funeral you went to. Ben says there’s a _liaison_ between her and him. I didn’t ask him what ’twas; but it’s something or other with a French name that makes talk, and I don’t think it’s respectable! I’m sorry that you and Rose went to her party; but then that can’t be helped now. I’m afraid this Mrs. Follingsbee is no sort of a woman, after all.” “But, pa, I’ve been to call on Mrs. Ferrola, poor little afflicted thing!” said Mrs. Van Astrachan. “I couldn’t help it! You know how we felt when little Willie died.” “Oh, certainly, Polly! call on the poor woman by all means, and do all you can to comfort her; but, from all I can find out, that handsome jackanapes of a husband of hers is just the poorest trash going. They say this Follingsbee woman half supports him. The time was in New York when such doings wouldn’t be allowed; and I don’t think calling things by French names makes them a bit better. So you just be careful, and steer as clear of her as you can.” “I will, pa, just as clear as I can; but you know Rose is a friend of Mrs. John Seymour; and Mrs. Seymour is visiting at Mrs. Follingsbee’s.” “Her husband oughtn’t to let her stay there another day,” said Mr. Van Astrachan. “It’s as much as any woman’s reputation is worth to be staying with her. To think of that fellow being dancing and capering at that Jezebel’s house the night his baby was dying!” “Oh, but, pa, he didn’t know it.” “Know it? he ought to have known it! What business has a man to get a woman with a lot of babies round her, and then go capering off? ’Twasn’t the way I did, Polly, you know, when our babies were young. I was always on the spot there, ready to take the baby, and walk up and down with it nights, so that you might get your sleep; and I always had it my side of the bed half the night. I’d like to have seen myself out at a ball, and you sitting up with a sick baby! I tell you, that if I caught any of my boys up to such tricks, I’d cut them out of my will, and settle the money on their wives;—that’s what I would!” “Well, pa, I shall try and do all in my power for poor Mrs. Ferrola,” said Mrs. Van Astrachan; “and you may be quite sure I won’t take another step towards Mrs. Follingsbee’s acquaintance.” “It’s a pity,” said Mr. Van Astrachan, “that somebody couldn’t put it into Mr. John Seymour’s head to send for his wife home.