d as a king. Madame Roquet, volubly convivial,
was talking to every one. Madame Robineau was silently disposing of all
the biscuits and punch that came in her way. Monsieur Robineau, with his
hat a little pushed back and his thumb in the arm-hole of his waistcoat,
was telling a long story to which nobody listened; while Dalrymple,
sitting on the other side of the bride, was gallantly doing the duties
of entertainer.

He looked up--I shook my head, slipped back into my place, and listened
to the tangled threads of conversation going on around me.

"And so," said Monsieur Robineau, proceeding with his story, and staring
down into the bottom of his empty glass, "and so I said to myself,
'Robineau, _mon ami_, take care. One honest man is better than two
rogues; and if thou keepest thine eyes open, the devil himself stands
small chance of cheating thee!' So I buttoned up my coat--this very coat
I have on now, only that I have re-lined and re-cuffed it since then,
and changed the buttons for brass ones; and brass buttons for one's
holiday coat, you know, look so much more _comme il faut_--and said to
the landlord...."

"Another glass of punch, Monsieur Robineau," interrupted Dalrymple.

"Thank you, M'sieur, you are very good; well, as I was saying...."

"Ah, bah, brother Jacques!" exclaimed Madame Roquet, impatiently,
"don't give us that old story of the miller and the gray colt, this
evening! We've all heard it a hundred times already. Sing us a song
instead, _mon ami_!"

"I shall be happy to sing, sister Marie," replied Monsieur Robineau,
with somewhat husky dignity, "when I have finished my story. You may
have heard the story before. So may Andre--so may Suzette--so may my
wife. I admit it. But these gentlemen--these gentlemen who have never
heard it, and who have done me the honor...."

"Not to listen to a word of it," said Madame Robineau, sharply. "There,
you are answered, husband. Drink your punch, and hold your tongue."

Monsieur Robineau waved his hand majestically, and assumed a
Parliamentary air.

"Madame Robineau," he said, getting more and more husky, "be so obliging
as to wait till I ask for your advice. With regard to drinking my punch,
I have drunk it--" and here he again stared down into the bottom of his
glass, which was again empty--"and with regard to holding my tongue,
that is my business, and--and...."

"Monsieur Robineau," said Dalrymple, "allow me to offer you some more
punch."

"Not anot