"A cushion-a stool-something for my daughter to sit on?" The waiter departed, and returned in a few minutes with a large parcel, which he placed upon the chair for the little girl. Thinking himself quit for this, he asked whether they would like some

oysters.

“We must first have something to put under my son.-You see, the table comes up to his nose-it is impossible for him to put a fork to his mouth."

"Oh! yes, papa," said the little boy, "I can eat all the same— I am big enough!"

"I tell you, Fanfan, that the table is too high for you.-Don't argue with me, sir, or you shall have no omelette soufflée.”

The waiter after looking about for some time, returned with one of those round leather cushions, which clerks often make use of in government offices.

"I could only find this, sir."

"It will do very well-it is just what we want."

The round cushion was placed on the little boy's chair, but he would not sit upon it, and cried out :

“I say!—what do they bring me such a thing as this for—it's full of holes!-I won't have it-such a nasty thing."

"Hold your tongue, Fanfan!-once more I tell you to behave yourself!-or-no omelette soufflée!”

This threat always produced the desired effect; the little urchin seated himself on the cushion, but made faces and fidgetted about on his chair.

"Shall I bring you some oysters?" repeated the waiter.

"I must have something to warm my feet," said the lady: "I am very cold in the feet!-and you my darlings-will you have something a little stool to put under your feet?"

"I'm hungry-mamma-I'm hungry!"

"Hush!-behave yourselves!-My love, will you pass me the bill of fare?"

"Yes, dear."

The gentleman studied the bill of fare for a long time, as though he had been reading the Moniteur.

The waiter again returned with a foot-stove, which was placed under the table for the lady's accommodation.

"What shall I bring you?" said he, varying his question. "Look, my love, what would you like?" said the gentleman, handing the bill of fare to his wife.

The lady commenced scrutinizing the carte, and as she remained as long over it as her husband, the waiter went away, to attend on some one else.

"My cutlet!-and mind it is not too much done!" said Girardière's neighbour. As to our hero, he said to the waiter:

Bring me something good-whatever you like, I will leave it

to yourself."

"Waiter! waiter!" cried the family gentleman.

The waiter hastened, and thinking he was going to receive orders for the dinner, advanced his head and listened attentively. "There is no salt-cellar here, waiter!-what are you thinking of-are we to dine without a salt-cellar?"

The waiter took one from an adjacent table, and brought it to the respectable family.

"Have you fixed on what you will take?" said he.

"Have you decided, darling, on what you would like?" said the gentleman, addressing himself to his wife, who appeared to be learning the bill of fare by wrote.

"I am considering I really, I hardly know-stop-pray, my love, order whatever is to your taste!'

"No dearest-choose yourself-as for me, I like everything!" "Some omelette soufflée, papa!" cried the little boy, moving about on his cushion.

"Yes, Fanfan, yes; we will have some if you behave yourself, but we cannot begin dinner with that. Well, my love, what would you like?"

The lady returned the bill to her husband.

"Ah! really," said she, "there are so many things here, that it confuses me!-I forget everything!

"We must however settle what soup we shall have,” she resumed.

"Are you determined on having soup?-we have it every day at home, and you make it deliciously!

"Faith no!-I care nothing about it!-waiter! waiter!"
The waiter returned quite out of breath.
"Waiter, we shall not take any soup."
"Will you have some oysters, then?

The gentleman regarded his wife, the lady looked at her daughter, the little girl looked at her brother, and the latter looked at his round cushion, to which he could by no means get reconciled. The head of the family resumed his question-his wife trod upon his toe underneath the table, and making signs with her head, replied:

"As for me, I care nothing about oysters. Do you mind about them, love?"

Not at all, I assure you."

"Oysters are too dear!" resumed the lady, in a low voice, "besides we shall be obliged to have a lemon!-and we shall gain nothing by that-it will only increase our appetite."

"Waiter! here, waiter!

"Yes, sir?"

"We shall not want any oysters."

The waiter began to lose his temper; he walked away, gently shrugging his shoulders; the gentleman and lady recommenced studying the bill of fare. The children, who began to think they

were only brought there to look at salt-cellars and decanters, amused themselves, to pass the time, by overturning the pepperbox on the table.

"Girardière's neighbour had dispatched his cutlet, and our hero himself was afraid to turn his eyes towards him, lest he should behold his enormous mouth, which opened as wide as a chimney, à la Prussienne, and threatened to engulph everything.

A young man who had just settled his bill, rose to depart, but stopped as he passed before Girardière, and held out his hand to him.

"Ah!" said he, "good morning! my dear friend!-How is it you are dining alone?-why did you not come and place yourself by me?-I should have been delighted."

"I have only this moment arrived."

"Well-have you been to visit the lady we were talking of? -is she to your liking?-eh ?—what say you?"

"Ah! indeed, apropos, you are a pretty fellow! you point me out a café, and tell me that the landlady is a widow and in want of a husband; you engage me to go and see her-I go, saying to myself, the sight can cost me nothing.' It however cost me a glass of capillaire and milk. But never mind that! I saw a very pretty woman, graceful and still young, and began to chat with her at the bar, while paying for my capillaire; she replied in a manner both gracious and spiritual!-I was enchanted!-The six following days I returned to the café, and put myself to a great expense; at last, on the seventh, I resolved on making some advances, some proposals to the pretty hostess, but at the first word she checked me and demanded:

"To whom do you imagine you are speaking, sir ?"

"To a charming widow, whom I should not have the remotest objection to offer my hand and heart."

Sir, you are very polite; but you are in error, I am married, and have three children."

Indeed, madame !-I was informed that the mistress of this establishment was a widow."

"You have not been deceived, sir;-but I am not the mistress of this establishment; she has been compelled to take a short journey about some money matters, and has induced me to oblige her by attending at the bar during her absence, which will last for two days." "Upon this I looked rather foolish: however, I made an apology and took my leave, with the resolution of returning to the café on the following day.-I did not fail to go, and found that the landlady had returned !-Ah! good heavens! what a difference!-I beheld at the bar a horrible looking woman, at least fifty, with a wen.-I ran off without taking anything."

"Ha! ha! poor Girardière !-What would you have?-it was not my fault I saw a pretty woman at the bar, and was told that the mistress of the establishment was in search of a husband;

I could not doubt that it was her!-Never mind, I will look out for something else, and will let you know about it. You may always rely upon me."

"Thank you-infinitely obliged!-I prefer looking out for self, and will save you the trouble."

my

The young man went away laughing, and Girardière resumed his dinner, muttering to himself:

"I've had quite enough of his services-he looks out for a wife for me, for the sake of my dinners; he sends me to people who know nothing of what I am going to speak about, and gives me false addresses into the bargain! No!-for the future I will manage my own affairs; and if heaven has decided that I shall remain in celibacy, why, then I must make up my mind to it!— Ah! cursed spaniel!-but for you I should now possess the little Grandvillain. Ever since that day I have hated the sight of a dog! I have imbibed a detestation for the species!"

"Waiter!-here, waiter!-I have been calling you this hour, you don't mind your business!"

This proceeded from the family gentleman, who turned about right and left as he cried out; but the waiter, who heard him plainly, allowed him to bawl away without answering.

"Waiter!-are you going to serve us at last?"

very

"But, sir, you have ordered nothing-this is the twentieth time I have asked you what you would like, and you have not yet made up your mind. I have other people to wait upon!"

"I should think we were quite at liberty to consider about it-waiter, bring us-a bœuf au natural."

"A bœuf only-for all four?"

"Ah! true as I have brought my son who eats heartily, bring two bœufs-waiter, two bœufs.'

"Very well, sir."

But I don't like beef, papa," cried the little boy, fidgetting about on his cushion.

"Hold your tongue, Fanfan-this little fellow is becoming an extraordinary glutton!"

"What wine do you take, white or red?"

"What wine?-ah! true-there are different sorts of wines here my duck, what wine shall we have?"

My darling, it is all the same to me; you know I drink very little, and never without water-Oh! not a drop without water." "True;-but nevertheless, once in a way at an hotel, it is as well to-let us see the carte of the wines.'

The waiter went away, foreseeing that they would take as long to decide about the wine as about the dinner.

The gentleman who displayed such an enormous mouth, after having dispatched some cheese and dried prunes which had been brought to him, payed his reckoning and took his departure.

Girardière thus found himself sole possessor of the table; and

VOL. I.

C C

of this he was by no means sorry; he spread himself out at his ease, and moved his plate, his decanter and his bottle, a little further away from him.

The chief of the family turned round and looked for the waiter, crying out, "Some vin ordinaire-but the best.”

"Here is your bœuf, sir."

Oh! very

well."

"What will you have to follow?"

"We shall see-have you the carte, my darling?" "You have it on your knees, my love.'

"Ah! true-
e-so I have; -we will think about it."

Girardière had just moved his plate and bread to a convenient distance, and was on the point of dining more at his ease, having even ventured to put one of his elbows on the table, when two ladies entered the salon.

One of them was old, her dress humble but decent, her appearance that of an honest pensioner residing in the provinces, and only come to Paris for the purpose of receiving her six months' dividends.

The other person was young; her face fresh and pretty enough, proclaimed her hardly nineteen; her toilet was as humble as that of the old lady; her deportment was embarrassed; if she resided in Paris, it must have been in the heart of one of the faubourgs.

The two ladies blushed on entering the room, like persons not accustomed to dine in public. They were undecided as to whether they should advance or retire, and were frightened at the scrutiny of so many people; but the waiter hastened to conduct them to the table at which Girardière was dining, and made them sit down in the place which the fat gentleman had occupied.

"You will be very well here, ladies," said he, "very well. This gentleman will have the kindness to move back his plate a little.'

This invitation was addressed to Girardière, who was much annoyed at not being able to organize himself according to his own wishes, but who, nevertheless, drew his plate and his bottle nearer to him, feeling that he had no right to play the despot in the salon of a restaurateur.

The two ladies made an inclination of the head to their vis-à-vis, to thank him for his politeness, and then ordered their dinner of the waiter.

Girardière examined his neighbours: their deportment, language, and appearance, all bespoke them to be respectable women, and notwithstanding that at Paris it is thought easy to be deceived, and thereby to commit serious mistakes, yet, though a gay woman may impose on you by her toilet, she invariably betrays herself when she begins to speak.

The young person was good looking; her freshness, her modest air, gave her additional charms. The more Girardière examined her,