were to be acted by Chambourdin and two of his friends. As each rôle would be but four lines, it was hoped that those gentlemen would succeed in learning them. The great day had arrived; the weather was fine and promised a magnificent day and evening, which were quite indispensable for the success of the party. At daybreak everybody was up at Monsieur Glumeau’s country house. Buxom Lolotte, although she did not act, was one of those who had most to do; as mistress of the house, she must overlook everything, see to it that everything needed for the play was provided, and attend to the preparations for the ball which was to follow it, and for the supper which was to follow the ball. For there is no such thing as a successful party without a supper; this principle is so fully admitted that those persons who entertain you without offering you that refection should be classed among people who do not know how to entertain. Those who were to take part in the play were to arrive early, for it was felt that there should be another rehearsal, because there are innumerable things, innumerable details of the mise-en-scène, which one does not notice until the moment of the performance; it is then a little late to rehearse them, but the zeal of the actors makes up for the lack of time. Monsieur Glumeau had risen as light as a feather, he was not conscious of the slightest ailment, and he continued to dance through his rôles; frequently confusing that of the tyrant Sacripandos with that of Pincette in the farce. But, after all, it was probable that the audience would not detect that confusion. As he was hurrying to the wood, to cast an eye over his stage, he met his wife, who was returning from a visit to the best caterer in the neighborhood. “Well, my dear love, we are lucky, we are going to have splendid weather, weather which seems to have been made for us.” “Yes, thank God! it is fine; but I can’t do any more; I am fagged out already; I doubt if I shall be able to stand up to-night.” “Why fatigue yourself so? Haven’t you your maid, and the gardener and his wife to do whatever you want?” “Oh, yes! that would be very nice; things would go splendidly this evening if I trusted to those people! The gardener’s wife is so stupid, she has already broken three lamp chimneys and a globe! Her husband is a little drunk already; if he keeps on he will be in fine condition to-night!” “Don’t worry, I will speak to him. But what have you left to do? The supper is to consist almost entirely of cold dishes; you arranged all that in advance, and the caterer knows what he is to send.” “And the dinner, monsieur--isn’t it necessary to think of that, too?” “The dinner? Oh! there will only be our intimate friends, and there is no need of ceremony about that.” “No ceremony, if you please, but there will be at least fourteen or fifteen of us, and it seems to me that we need something for that number!”