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120 in smiles, and his little black eyes sparkled as he pressed the glass against his lips with sly grace, or prattled deliciously, and ever and anon he turned some piquant episode into vivid pantomime. He laughed and jested, gave me glimpses of the past, and made those naïve personal confessions that so invariably beguiled his intimate friends; but he also talked of other matters, of small affairs and great crimes, of women and art, of fresh scandals and old comedies.

It was then, I think, that he spoke of Madame de Mussan, who went everywhere and enchanted everyone, and whom I had met in Florence and in Vienna. Truly he had here an unending theme, and he touched upon it with delicacy, with fervor, with characteristic charm. And while he sounded her praises like a lover, I hung upon his syllables and breathed softly, lest I might mar the pleasure I received.

But he concluded abruptly by saying:

"And now you are happy, since the divinity is among us once more!"

"How?" I questioned; "in Paris?"

"What, and the high priest has had no hint of this?"

"No jesting, my good Habelais; be serious."

"Seriously, then. Shall we go to Madame's shrine and offer our vows?"

"Ah, with all my heart," said I.

"But why not first see the new play and Coquelin?"

"I had forgotten that—but, doubtless, she will be there."

"Doubtless."

"Then let it be as you wish," I answered; ‘"just as you say."

I looked up as I spoke and noted the time by the clock on the pedestal in front of me. My host, looking around and seeing that it lacked a few minutes of eight, tapped upon the bell at his side. The valet, a nimble lad, came in and took orders as Habelais delighted in giving them—by a glance of the eye or a wave of his hand. The lad went through his services and got us ready without delay. In leaving the rooms, if I am not deceived, we were still chatting of Madame de Mussan and Coquelin and the new play.

On the street I felt at first confused by the glare and the noise. It was Carnival season, and the people quaintly attired and in masks were numerous and frolicsome. Before we had gone far on our way I thought I recognized two wags, who called us by name and rallied us, and I questioned my companion, but he put his finger on his lips and took my arm at the same time, and we walked on in silence.

The night was fine, perhaps, if anything, somewhat too cool, but I enjoyed the freshness of the air as much as the animation and brisk gambols of the revelers. These pleasantries were diverting, undoubtedly. When I glanced again at the countenance of my friend, I observed that his brow had contracted, his round chin had grown pointed anc his eyes had prodigiously enlarged. It was nothing but one of his little illusions, however, and I saw at once, of course, that my whimsical friend was seeking to amuse himself at my expense; so, determined to turn the game in my own favor, I quietly affected to be in nowise surprised. Habelais drew his hand across his features, which soon lost their unnatural outlines.

We passed into the Rue de St. Honoré and under the arcade of the Théâtre Français. Certainly this was my impression, and yet, after we entered, the interior, I perceived, could scarcely be that of the famous playhouse; it resembled in the main the auditorium of the Opéra, though it seemed even more brilliant and more spacious. Every recess was filled; I do not remember to have seen people in equal numbers, a gathering more attractive, such abundance of color, so many rare costumes or so much beauty. The whole of the vast space hummed with human voices; the fragrance of a garden pervaded the warm air, that quivered with a thousand lights.

Nor was it long before the orchestra