in her antechamber;
consequently you can visit her without compromising yourself, and play
cards there without fear; if there _are_ any scoundrels in her salons,
they are people of quality and come in their carriages; such persons
never quarrel."

Old man belonging to the genus Observer: "If you call on Madame
Firmiani, my good friend, you will find a beautiful woman sitting at her
ease by the corner of her fireplace. She will scarcely rise to receive
you,--she only does that for women, ambassadors, dukes, and persons
of great distinction. She is very gracious, she possesses charm;
she converses well, and likes to talk on many topics. There are many
indications of a passionate nature about her; but she has, evidently, so
many adorers that she cannot have a favorite. If suspicion rested on two
or three of her intimates, we might say that one or other of them was
the "cavaliere servente"; but it does not. The lady is a mystery. She is
married, though none of us have seen her husband. Monsieur Firmiani is
altogether mythical; he is like that third post-horse for which we pay
though we never behold it. Madame has the finest contralto voice in
Europe, so say judges; but she has never been heard to sing more than
two or three times since she came to Paris. She receives much company,
but goes nowhere."

The Observer speaks, you will notice, as an Oracle. His words,
anecdotes, and quotations must be accepted as truths, under pain of
being thought without social education or intelligence, and of
causing him to slander you with much zest in twenty salons where he
is considered indispensable. The Observer is forty years of age, never
dines at home, declares himself no longer dangerous to women, wears a
maroon coat, and has a place reserved for him in several boxes at the
"Bouffons." He is sometimes confounded with the Parasite; but he has
filled too many real functions to be thought a sponger; moreover he
possesses a small estate in a certain department, the name of which he
has never been known to utter.

"Madame Firmiani? why, my dear fellow, she was Murat's former mistress."
This man belongs to the Contradictors,--persons who note errata in
memoirs, rectify dates, correct facts, bet a hundred to one, and are
certain about everything. You can easily detect them in some gross
blunder in the course of a single evening. They will tell you they were
in Paris at the time of Mallet's conspiracy, forgetting that half an
hour earlie