ith an agreeable smile, a sayer
of pretty nothings with more acquired cleverness than native wit, stoops
to your ear and adds, with a shrewd glance: "I have never seen Monsieur
Firmiani. His social position is that of looking after property in
Italy. Madame Firmiani is a Frenchwoman, and spends her money like a
Parisian. She has excellent tea. It is one of the few houses where you
can amuse yourself; the refreshments are exquisite. It is very difficult
to get admitted; therefore, of course, one meets only the best society
in her salons." Here the Lounger takes a pinch of snuff; he inhales it
slowly and seems to say: "I go there, but don't expect me to present
_you_."

Evidently the Lounger considers that Madame Firmiani keeps a sort of
inn, without a sign.

"Why do you want to know Madame Firmiani? Her parties are as dull as the
Court itself. What is the good of possessing a mind unless to avoid such
salons, where stupid talk and foolish little ballads are the order of
the day." You have questioned a being classed Egotist, a species who
would like to keep the universe under lock and key, and let nothing be
done without their permission. They are unhappy if others are happy;
they forgive nothing but vices, downfalls, frailties, and like none but
proteges. Aristocrats by inclination, they make themselves democrats out
of spite, preferring to consort with inferiors as equals.

"Oh, Madame Firmiani, my dear fellow! she is one of those adorable women
who serve as Nature's excuse for all the ugly ones she creates.
Madame Firmiani is enchanting, and so kind! I wish I were in power and
possessed millions that I might--" (here a whisper). "Shall I present
you?" The speaker is a youth of the Student species, known for his
boldness among men and his timidity in a boudoir.

"Madame Firmiani?" cries another, twirling his cane. "I'll tell you what
I think of her; she is a woman between thirty and thirty-five; faded
complexion, handsome eyes, flat figure, contralto voice worn out, much
dressed, rather rouged, charming manners; in short, my dear fellow, the
remains of a pretty woman who is still worth the trouble of a passion."
This remark is from the species Fop, who has just breakfasted, doesn't
weigh his words, and is about to mount his horse. At that particular
moment Fops are pitiless.

"Magnificent collection of pictures in her house; go and see them by all
means," answers another. "Nothing finer." You have questioned one of