"We will not quarrel," said my neighbor, lightly, with reference to the
popular superstition.

"Rather propitiate the offended deities by a crumb tossed over the
shoulder," added I.

"Over the left?" asked the Baron, to intimate his knowledge of another
idiom, together with a reproof for my _gaucherie_.

"_À gauche,--quelquefois c'est justement à droit_," I replied.

"Salt in any pottage," said Madame, a little uneasily, "is like surprise
in an individual; it brings out the flavor of every ingredient, so my
cook tells me."

"It is a preventive of palsy," I remarked, as the slight trembling of my
adversary's finger caught my eye.

"And I have noticed that a taste for it is peculiar to those who trace
their blood to Galitzin," continued Madame.

"Let us, therefore, elect a deputation to those mines near Cracow," said
Delphine.

"To our cousins, the slaves there?" laughed her mother.

"I must vote to lay your bill on the table, Mademoiselle," I rejoined.

"But with a _boule blanche_, Monsieur?"