hose vigour had, if possible, been excited by the
bustle and colloquy in the night air, insisted upon dragging us back
again, and actually proposed a grill for supper!

We found in the salle-a-manger a strong smell of an extinguished lamp,
and Mrs. Berry was snuffing out the candles on the sideboard.

"Hullo, my dear!" shouts Berry: "easy, if you please; we've not done
yet!"

"Not done yet, Mr. Berry!" groans the lady, in a hollow sepulchral tone.

"No, Mrs. B., not done yet. We are going to have some supper, ain't we,
George?"

"I think it's quite time to go home," said Mr. Fitz-Boodle (who, to say
the truth, began to tremble himself).

"I think it is, sir; you are quite right, sir; you will pardon me,
gentlemen, I have a bad headache, and will retire."

"Good-night, my dear!" said that audacious Berry. "Anatole, tell the
cook to broil a fowl and bring some wine."

If the loving couple had been alone, or if Cutler had not been an
attache to the embassy, before whom she was afraid of making herself
ridiculous, I am confident that Mrs. Berry would have fainted away on
the spot; and that all Berry's courage would have tumbled down lifeless
by the side of her. So she only gave a martyrised look, and left the
room; and while we partook of the very unnecessary repast, was good
enough to sing some hymn-tunes to an exceedingly slow movement in the
next room, intimating that she was awake, and that, though suffering,
she found her consolations in religion.

These melodies did not in the least add to our friend's courage. The
devilled fowl had, somehow, no devil in it. The champagne in the glasses
looked exceedingly flat and blue. The fact is, that Cutler and I were
now both in a state of dire consternation, and soon made a move for
our hats, and lighting each a cigar in the hall, made across the little
green where the Cupids and nymphs were listening to the dribbling
fountain in the dark.

"I'm hanged if I don't have a cigar too!" says Berry, rushing after us;
and accordingly putting in his pocket a key about the size of a shovel,
which hung by the little handle of the outer grille, forth he sallied,
and joined us in our fumigation.

He stayed with us a couple of hours, and returned homewards in perfect
good spirits, having given me his word of honour he would dine with us
the next day. He put his immense key into the grille, and unlocked it;
but the gate would not open: IT WAS BOLTED WITHIN.

He began to make a