hing out for glasses, or trifling with
fruit or biscuits.

That sentimental blonde, Mademoiselle Louison, fell into meditation over
a grape that she had dropped in her champagne glass. Tiny bright
air-bubbles gathered all round the coating of the fruit, and when it was
quite covered with these shining white pearls, they lifted the heavy
grape up through the wine to the surface.

'Look!' said Mademoiselle Louison, turning her large, swimming eyes upon
the journalist, 'look, white angels are bearing a sinner to heaven!'

'Ah! _charmant_, mademoiselle! What a sublime thought!' exclaimed the
journalist, enraptured.

Mademoiselle Louison's sublime thought passed round the table, and was
much admired. Only the frivolous Adele whispered to her obese admirer,
'It would take a good many angels to bear you, Anatole.'

Meanwhile the journalist seized the opportunity; he knew how to rivet
the general attention. Besides, he was glad to escape from a tiresome
political controversy with the German; and, as he wore a red ribbon and
affected the superior journalistic tone, everybody listened to him.

He explained how small forces, when united, can lift great burdens; and
then he entered upon the topic of the day--the magnificent collections
made by the press for the sufferers by the floods in Spain, and for the
poor of Paris. Concerning this he had much to relate, and every moment
he said 'we,' alluding to the press. He talked himself quite warm about
'these millions, that we, with such great self-sacrifice, have raised.'

But each of the others had his own story to tell. Numberless little
touches of nobility--all savouring of self-denial--came to light from
amidst these days of luxury and pleasure.

Mademoiselle Louison's best friend--an insignificant little lady who sat
at the foot of the table--told, in spite, of Louison's protest, how the
latter had taken three poor seamstresses up to her own rooms, and had
them sew the whole of the night before the _fete_ in the hippodrome. She
had given the poor girls coffee and food, besides payment.

Mademoiselle Louison suddenly became an important personage at table,
and the journalist began to show her marked attention.

The many pretty instances of philanthropy, and Louison's swimming eyes,
put the whole company into a quiet, tranquil, benevolent frame of mind,
eminently in keeping with the weariness induced by the exertions of the
feast. And this comfortable feeling rose yet a few