f M. Bernard, and his wife has
undertaken to patronize him, and introduce him to good society.

"A person of about forty years of age, with one of those silly
countenances which there is no mistaking at the first glance, is seated
beside Eugenie. M. Dupont--such is his name--is a rich grocer of the Rue
aux Ours. He wears powder and a queue, because he fancies they are
becoming, and his hairdresser has told him that they are very
aristocratic. His coat of sky-blue, and his jonquil-coloured waistcoat,
give him still more the appearance of a simpleton, and agree admirably
with the astonished expression of his gooseberry eyes. He dangles two
watch-chains, that hang down his nankeen trowsers, with great
satisfaction, and seems struck with admiration at the wisdom of his own
remarks. He thinks himself captivating and full of wit. He has the
presumption of ignorance, propped up by money. Finally, he is a
bachelor, which gives him great consideration in all the families where
there are marriageable daughters. M. and Madame Gerard, perfumers in the
Rue St Martin, are also of the party. The perfumer enacts the gallant
gay Lothario, and in his own district has the reputation of a prodigious
rake, though he is ugly, and ill-made, and squints. But he fancies he
overcomes all these drawbacks by covering himself with odours and
perfumes--accordingly, you smell him half an hour before he comes in
sight. His wife is young and pretty. She married him at fifteen, and has
a boy of nine, who looks more like her brother than her son. The little
Gerard hollos and jumps about, breaks the glasses and bottles, and makes
as much noise as all the rest of the company put together. 'He's a
little lion,' exclaims M. Gerard; 'he's exactly what I was. You never
could hear yourselves speak wherever I was, at his age. People were
delighted with me. My son is my perfect image.'

"M. Gerard's sister, an old maid of forty-five, who takes every
opportunity of declaring that she never intends to marry, and sighs
every tine M. Dupont looks at her, is next to M. Moutonnet. The old
clerk of the laceman--M. Bidois--who waits for Madame Moutonnet's
permission before he opens his mouth, and fills his glass every time she
is not looking--is placed at the side of Mademoiselle Cecile Gerard;
who, though she swears every minute that she never will marry, and that
she hates the men, is very ill pleased to have old M. Bidois for her
neighbour, and hints pretty audibly t