sure of it, my dear fellow! that's an excellent restaurant. And when you happen to want a truffled snipe à la provençale, just order it in the morning when you go out to walk; it will be all ready for you at six o'clock, and you can tell me what you think of it."

"You seem to know the good places, Monsieur Chamoureau."

"What would you have? my knowledge goes back to the time of my marriage; Eléonore liked good things to eat and we often dined at restaurants—with Freluchon. He always went with us; my wife liked to have him because he knew all about wines and I knew very little. My wife would say: 'If Freluchon doesn't come with us, we shall have some wretched madeira.'—But he never refused to come, the dear fellow."

"It was a pleasure to me."

"To be sure, where my wife was, one could never be bored; she had so much wit!"

"Ah! she was agreeable, was she?"

"Agreeable! Eléonore! Why, monsieur, she was a very superior woman—a regular bluestocking! She could have written her own memoirs if she had wanted to; but she wouldn't do it, she was too bright for that. She just sparkled with fun, with imagination. I shall never find another woman like her, never! never! What a loss I have sustained! I can never be consoled; when I lost her, I lost all!"

Monsieur Chamoureau drew his handkerchief again and began to weep.

"Come, come, Monsieur Chamoureau," said Edmond, "you must be reasonable!"

"It's too much for me, my dear friend. I feel that I am no longer of any account on earth, bereft of my Eléonore!"

Freluchon seized the tongs and began to stir the fire, saying:

"Chamoureau, do you remember the trick she played on an old lady one day?"

"Ah, yes! at Saint-Cloud!"

"At Saint-Cloud, just so; it was at a restaurant, one very hot day in summer."

"Yes, yes; there was only one small salon with two tables vacant."

"That's right. Eléonore—I mean your wife——"

"Mon Dieu! that makes no difference, it wasn't worth while to correct yourself. You were intimate enough with us to call her Eléonore.—Go on."

"When we entered the small salon, your wife noticed the grimace and the disdainful expression which our appearance called forth from an old lady covered with jewels and laces, who occupied the other table."

"Yes, yes, she noticed everything, Eléonore did! What an eye!—Go on."

"Your wife asked the waiter in an undertone who that person was who put on so many airs, and the waiter replied:

"'She's a very rich lady, who has a carriage below. Sometimes she comes here to dine all alone, and she usually has a private room; but as they were all taken to-day, they put her in here, where she wanted to be alone just the same. She's very angry because we put somebody in with her; although we assured her that they were very nice people. She said to me: "Serve them as quickly as you can, so that they won't stay long."—But you mustn't disturb yourselves; stay as long as you choose.'

"'Never you fear,' said Eléonore—your wife; 'I'll wager that we will stay longer than she will. Oho! indeed! so we offend that lady, do we? that's a great pity! In that case, I propose to make myself at home.'

"With that, she took off her hat and shawl, and, at a sign from her, we removed our coats. The old lady muttered between her teeth. After the soup, Eléonore said to us: 'You are still too warm; pray take off your waistcoats and cravats; we don't come into the country to be uncomfortable.'"

"Yes, yes, I remember; we took off all those things. The old woman with the jewels rapped angrily on the table with her fork. Ah! how amusing it was!"

"Finally, at a sign from your wife, I put my hand to my belt, saying: 'Faith, my trousers are too tight! With your permission?'

"At that the old woman jumped from her chair as if she were moved by a spring, upsetting her plate and glass and smashing everything on the table, and rushed from the room, crying: 'What an outrage! they're going to make savages of themselves! It is shocking! it is frightful!'"

"And meanwhile, we three—Ha! ha! ha! we nearly died laughing."

"Your wife was almost helpless!"

"With good reason. When I think of it—Ha! ha! what a joke! Ha! ha! ha! I can still see that old woman when she thought Freluchon was going to appear in his shirt! Ha! ha! ha!"

When he saw Chamoureau laughing with all his might, Edmond began to believe that the widower's grief was less incurable than he had hitherto supposed.

But Eléonore's husband soon ceased to laugh and began to sigh once more, saying:

"You can understand, Monsieur Edmond, that one couldn't be bored in the company of so clever a woman."

"Yes, I can understand it."

"The fact is, that with her there was a constant fire of bons mots, sallies and repartees, eh, Freluchon?"

"That's so; in conversation she had the knack of forcing one to be agreeable; she imparted her own wit to others."

"Exactly! So that now there's a void in my life, which I shall never succeed in filling, alas!"

"I beg your pardon, but with time, the greatest griefs are allayed."

"Time won't have any effect on mine. Oh, no! I can feel it in the depths of my soul. Dear Eléonore! O God! O God! hi! hi! hi!"

And Monsieur Chamoureau produced his handkerchief again and put it to his eyes.

"Your wife had many agreeable social accomplishments, also," said Freluchon.

"I should say so! she had them all!"

"She sang very well."

"That is to say, she had a ravishing voice, a voice which would not have been out of place at the Opéra-Comique."

"There was one song in particular that she used to sing so sweetly. It was——"

"Oh! I know what you mean! it was the song from La Fanchonnette."

And Monsieur Chamoureau began to sing: