“Isn’t she a good subject for ‘La Caricature’?” said a so-called lady of the bedchamber to a duchess, who could hardly help laughing at the aspect of Zelie, glittering with diamonds, red as a poppy, squeezed into a gold brocade, and rolling along like the casts of her former shop. “Will you pardon me, fair lady,” began Thuillier, twisting his body, and pausing in pose number two of his imperial repertory, “for having allowed this invitation to remain in my desk, thinking, all the while, that it was sent? It is for to-day, but perhaps I am too late?” Zelie examined her husband’s face as he approached them to receive Thuillier; then she said:-- “We intended to drive into the country and dine at some chance restaurant; but we’ll give up that idea and all the more readily because, in my opinion, it is getting devilishly vulgar to drive out of Paris on Sundays.” “We will have a little dance to the piano for the young people, if enough come, as I hope they will. I have sent a line to Phellion, whose wife is intimate with Madame Pron, the successor--” “Successor_ess_,” interrupted Madame Minard. “No,” said Thuillier, “it ought to be success’ress; just as we say may’ress, dropping the O, you know.” “Is it full dress?” asked Madame Minard. “Heavens! no,” replied Thuillier; “you would get me finely scolded by my sister. No, it is only a family party. Under the Empire, madame, we all devoted ourselves to dancing. At that great epoch of our national life they thought as much of a fine dancer as they did of a good soldier. Nowadays the country is so matter-of-fact.” “Well, we won’t talk politics,” said the mayor, smiling. “The King is grand; he is very able. I have a deep admiration for my own time, and for the institutions which we have given to ourselves. The King, you may be sure, knows very well what he is doing by the development of industries. He is struggling hand to hand against England; and we are doing him more harm during this fruitful peace than all the wars of the Empire would have done.” “What a deputy Minard would make!” cried Zelie, naively. “He practises speechifying at home. You’ll help us to get him elected, won’t you, Thuillier?” “We won’t talk politics now,” replied Thuillier. “Come at five.” “Will that little Vinet be there?” asked Minard; “he comes, no doubt, for Celeste.” “Then he may go into mourning,” replied Thuillier. “Brigitte won’t hear of him.” Zelie and Minard exchanged a smile of satisfaction. “To think that we must hob-nob with such common people, all for the sake of our son!” cried Zelie, when Thuillier was safely down the staircase, to which the mayor had accompanied him. “Ha! he thinks to be deputy!” thought Thuillier, as he walked away. “These grocers! nothing satisfies them. Heavens! what would Napoleon say if he could see the government in the hands of such people! I’m a trained administrator, at any rate. What a competitor, to be sure! I wonder what la Peyrade will say?”