"Seriously," continued Denoisel, "I had the most brilliant prospects--just for five minutes. It was on the twenty-fourth of February, 1848. I did not know what to do with myself, for when one has done the Tuileries in the morning it rather unsettles one for the rest of the day. It occurred to me that I would go and call on one of my friends who has a Government appointment--a Government appointment, you know, on the other side of the water. I arrived, and there was no one there. I went upstairs into the minister's office where my friend worked--no friend there. I lighted a cigarette, intending to wait for him. A gentleman came in while I was smoking, and seeing me seated, imagined I belonged to the place. He had no hat on, so that I thought he also did. He asked me very politely to show him the way about the house. I took him round and then we came back. He gave me something to write down, just telling me the sense of it. I took my friend's pen and wrote. He then read it and was delighted. We talked; he admired my orthography. He shook hands with me and found I had gloves on. To cut it short, at the end of a quarter of an hour he was pressing me to be his secretary. It was the new minister." "And you did not accept?" "My friend arrived and I accepted for him. He is at present quite a high functionary in the Council of State. It was lucky for him to be supernumerary only half a day." They were having dessert, and M. Mauperin had pulled one of the dishes nearer and was just helping himself in an absent-minded way. "M. Mauperin!" exclaimed his wife, looking steadily at him. "I beg pardon, my dear--symmetry--you are quite right. I wasn't thinking," and he pushed the dish back to its place. "You always do disarrange things----" "I'm sorry, my dear, I'm very sorry. My wife is an excellent woman, you know, gentlemen, but if you disarrange her symmetry for her--It's quite a religion with my wife--symmetry is." "How ridiculous you are, M. Mauperin!" said Mme. Mauperin, blushing at being convicted of the most flagrant provincialism; and then, turning upon her daughter, she exclaimed, "Oh, dear, Renee, how you stoop! Do sit up, my child----" "That's always the way," murmured the young girl, speaking to herself. "Mamma avenges herself on me." "Gentlemen," said M. Mauperin, when they had returned to the drawing-room, "you can smoke here, you know. We owe that liberty to my son. He has been lucky enough to obtain his mother's----" "Coffee, god-papa?" asked Renee. "No," answered M. Barousse, "I shouldn't be able to go to sleep----" "Here," put in Renee, finishing his sentence for him. "M. Reverchon?" "I never take it, thank you very much." She went backward and forward, the steam from the cup of hot coffee she was carrying rising to her face and flushing it. "Is every one served?" she asked, and without waiting for any reply she sat down to the piano and struck the first notes of a polka.