“This was the opportunity for La Bernardière to press his suit and to pray forgiveness for neglect, and to urge his presence at our table with many an assurance of the utter discomfiture and despair which his refusal would occasion. The countenance of the worthy archbishop lighted up at the mention of the dinner. He was evidently a _bon vivant_ of the first class, and it was doubtless to this quality that he owed both the rotundity of his person and the mournful discontent under which he laboured. He apparently deemed, however, that a little hesitation was necessary to preserve his dignity in the eyes of La Bernardière, and he summoned his secretary to learn from him if it were possible to accept an invitation upon so short a notice—if there were no other engagement to interfere with his desire to prove his respect and consideration for M. de Talleyrand by accepting both the invitation and the excuses so courteously conveyed. Of course the secretary was too well schooled to decide precipitately; he had to consult his registers, his list of invitations for the week, &c.; however, La Bernardière soon perceived that there was little danger of refusal. The prospect of a real French dinner, Carême and Minguet, was too much for the philosophy of the archbishop; and as La Bernardière had anticipated, he ended by not only accepting the invitation, but almost excusing himself for having hesitated. “It was a real satisfaction to learn the acquiescal of his grandeur, for we had waited in fear and trembling the return of La Bernardière. It was immediately resolved among the little knot of gentlemen gathered in the salon that it would be necessary to display even more courtesy towards him at the dinner-table in consequence of this involuntary neglect; and thus, much to my subsequent discomfiture, it was agreed that the poor archbishop was to be placed at my right hand. I was exceedingly diverted at the extreme self-complacency with which he received all our demonstrations of respect, all our contrivances to do him honour—a mixture of embarrassment and haughtiness which I have never seen equalled. But at sight of the dinner all stiffness and formality were banished. His heavy countenance brightened, and he exhibited the most lively interest in every arrangement, tormenting me terribly to know the name of every dish which was handed to him, then questioning the servant who presented it upon the nature of the ingredients employed in its composition, and finally calling, in a shrill tone, for ‘Nino,’ the short fat man who stood behind his chair, dressed in a livery which, I believe, is called heraldic, and which is all striped and cross-barred with every colour in the rainbow—red, yellow, blue, white, as many, in short, as there may be quarterings in the escutcheon, producing an effect more resembling that of the pictures on playing cards than anything else that can be imagined.