Victor Emmanuel style, did the greatest honor
to the barber who cultivated it. Even when seen for the first time,
one might fancy that he recognized him, so exactly was he like three
or four hundred others who are seen daily in the neighborhood of
the Cafe Riche, who are met everywhere where people run who pretend
to amuse themselves,--at the bourse or in the bois; at the first
representations, where they are just enough hidden to be perfectly
well seen at the back of boxes filled with young ladies with
astonishing chignons; at the races; in carriages, where they drink
champagne to the health of the winner.

He had on this occasion hoisted his best looks, and the full dress
_de rigueur_--dress-coat with wide sleeves, shirt cut low in the neck,
and open vest, fastened below the waist by a single button.

"Quite the man of the world," again remarked Mme. Desclavettes.

M. Favoral rushed toward him; and the latter, hastening, met him
half way, and, taking both his hands into his--"I cannot tell you,
dear friend," he commenced, "how deeply I feel the honor you do me
in receiving me in the midst of your charming family and your
respectable friends."

And he bowed all around during this speech, which he delivered in
the condescending tone of a lord visiting his inferiors.

"Let me introduce you to my wife," interrupted the cashier. And,
leading him towards Mme. Favoral--"Monsieur Costeclar, my dear,"
said he: "the friend of whom we have spoken so often."

M. Costeclar bowed, rounding his shoulders, bending his lean form
in a half-circle, and letting his arms hang forward.

"I am too much the friend of our dear Favoral, madame," he uttered,
"not to have heard of you long since, nor to know your merits, and
the fact that he owes to you that peaceful happiness which he enjoys,
and which we all envy him."

Standing by the mantel-piece, the usual Saturday evening guests
followed with the liveliest interest the evolutions of the pretender.
Two of them, M. Chapelain and old Desormeaux, were perfectly able
to appreciate him at his just value; but, in affirming that he made
half a million a year, M. Favoral had, as it were, thrown over his
shoulders that famous ducal cloak which concealed all deformities.

Without waiting for his wife's answer, M. Favoral brought his
protege in front of Mlle. Gilberte.

"Dear daughter," said he, "Monsieur Costeclar, the friend of whom
I have spoken."

M. Costeclar bowed still lower, a