would turn her head away
and give a small sob--when Charles would wink a knowing wink and trot
over and pat the broad shoulder and kiss the rouged cheek, saying: "Why,
why, Ellen, my dear, what a great baby! now, now, but you know those
black breeches did break up before you got across the bridge."

Then Mrs. Kean turned and drove him into his own corner or out of the
door, after which she would exclaim: "It's just one of his larks, my
dear. I _did_ have an accident, the seam of one leg of my breeches broke
and showed the white lining a bit; but if you'll believe me, I've known
that man to declare that--that--they fell off, my dear; but generally
that's on Christmas or his birthday, when only friends are by."

Mr. Kean had been the first man to wear an absolutely correct cardinal's
robe on the stage, and very proud he was of that fact, and never failed
in giving his Ellen all the credit of it. Until this time actors had worn
a scarlet "something," that seemed a cross between a king's mantle or a
woman's wrapper. Mr. Kean had been quite carried away with enthusiasm
over his coming production of "Henry VIII.," and his wife, seeing his
disappointment and dissatisfaction over the costumer's best efforts in
the direction of a cardinal's robe, determined, some way or somehow, to
obtain for him an exact copy of the genuine article.

One night, while "Louis XI." was going on, Mrs. Kean herself told me how
she had at last succeeded. They were in Rome for their holiday; they had
many letters, some to very important personages. In her story Mrs. Kean
gave names and dates and amounts of money expended, but they have passed
from my memory, while the dramatic incident remains.

From the first she had made known to her most powerful Roman friend her
desire to see the robe of a cardinal--to obtain measurements from it, and
had been treated at first to a great showing of uplifted hands and eyes
and many "impossibles," but later on had received positive promises of
help. Yet days, even weeks passed, and always there was some
excuse--nothing came of the fine promises.

One day, in her anxiety and disappointment, she mentioned to an English
friend, who had long resided in Rome, her trouble over the
procrastination of her Italian acquaintance, when the Englishwoman asked:
"What have you paid him?" "Paid him?" cried Mrs. Kean. "Do you know you
are speaking of F----, whose high official as well as social position is
such----"

"Oh," la