Monsieur Dufournelle was a stout party of forty-five, with a jovial face which denoted a frank and hearty disposition. His wife, who was hardly thirty, was pretty, had a good figure, and laughed all the time; it is needless to say that she had fine teeth; if they had been ugly she would not have laughed on all occasions. “Good afternoon, my friends!” said Monsieur Dufournelle, with an “ouf!” which sent the sheets of music scattered over the piano flying about the room. “We have come early; it’s bad form, but we don’t care for that!--You are all well, my dear friends?” “Very well--extremely well! It is so nice of you to come early!” said Madame Glumeau, dissembling a slight grimace. “I remarked to my husband,” rejoined the lady with the fine teeth, “that perhaps it would be discourteous for us to come before five o’clock; but he replied that we didn’t stand on ceremony with you.” “And he was right, he was quite right!” said Monsieur Glumeau, pressing one of his hands to his stomach; then he turned to his daughter and muttered: “The devil take them! I want my enema!” “Besides, we have lots of things to talk about,” said Madame Dufournelle; “aren’t we to distribute the parts to-day for our performance?--Ha! ha! what fun it will be! I have never acted, but I am looking forward to it. Ha! ha!” “Would you believe that my wife hasn’t talked about anything else for a fortnight, and I have to take her to the theatre every night, because she claims that that is like giving her lessons! One day she tries to imitate Scriwaneck, another time Mademoiselle Fargueil; then it’s Aline Duval whom she tries to mimic, or else pretty Alphonsine, or Grassot.” “Oh! really, Monsieur Dufournelle, what are you talking about? Imitate Grassot indeed! do you suppose that I mean to take men’s parts? Ha! ha! ha!” “I don’t know, but I assure you that you caught some of Grassot’s intonations when you were rehearsing--I don’t know what rôle.--But where is our dear little Astianax? aren’t we to see him?” “Yes, indeed, you will see him; he should be at home before this; I don’t know where he can have gone.” “I’ll bet that he’s gone to get a b--b--bouquet for p--p--papa.” “A bouquet! what! it can’t be that it’s Glumeau’s birthday?” “Why, isn’t this Saint-Honoré’s day?” “Sapristi! and we never thought of it, Eléonore?” “That is true, my dear; we are very thoughtless!” “All the same, my dear friend, I wish you many happy returns; the bouquet will come later!” “Thanks! thanks!” replied Glumeau, with a significant glance at his wife. “At this moment, a bouquet isn’t what I want.” “I must go and complete my toilet,” said the buxom Lolotte, answering her husband’s signs with a wink. “You will excuse me, won’t you?” “Excuse you? why, of course.” “Yes, go and do--do what you have to do!” cried Glumeau, staring at his feet with a distressed expression. “And I will come too.” “You see, we came too early!” said Madame Dufournelle; “we are in the way.”