never seen before, are the only
people worthy of his attentions. Madame Lupot is tired of getting up,
curtsying, and sitting down again. But her daughter is radiant with joy;
her husband goes from room to room, rubbing his hands, as if he had
bought all Paris, and got it a bargain. And little Ascanius never comes
out of the bed-room without his mouth full. But it is not enough to
invite a large party; you must know how to amuse them; it is a thing
which very few people have the art of, even those most accustomed to
have soirees. In some you get tired, and you are in great ceremony; you
must restrict yourself to a conversation that is neither open, nor
friendly, nor amusing. In others, you are pestered to death by the
amphitryon, who is perhaps endowed with the bump of music, and won't
leave the piano for fear some one else should take his place. There are
others fond of cards, who only ask their friends that they may make up a
table. Such individuals care for nothing but the game, and don't trouble
themselves whether the rest of their guests are amused or not. Ah! there
are few homes that know how to receive their company, or make every body
pleased. It requires a tact, a cleverness, an absence of self, which
must surely be very unusual since we see so few specimens of them in the
soirees we attend.

M. Lupot went to and fro--from the reception-room to the bed-chamber,
and back again--he smiled, he bowed, and rubbed his hands. But the
new-comers, who had not come to his house to see him smile and rub his
hands, began to say, in very audible whispers, "Ah, well, do people pass
the whole night here looking at each other? Very delightful--very!"

M. Lupot has tried to start a conversation with a big man in spectacles,
with a neckcloth of great dimensions, and who makes extraordinary faces
as he looks round on the company. M. Lupot has been told, that the
gentleman with the large neckcloth is a literary man, and that he will
probably be good enough to read or recite some lines of his own
composition. The ancient stationer coughs three times before venturing
to address so distinguished a character, but says at last--"Enchanted to
see at my house a gentleman so--an author of such----"

"Ah, you're the host here, are you?--the master of the house?"--said the
man in the neckcloth.

"I flatter myself I am--with my wife, of course--the lady on the
sofa--you see her? My daughter, sir--she's the tall young lady, so
upright in