tumultuous grandeur towers above, but in itself all proportions are
human. The world that the traveller has lately viewed is here in
miniature, modest and pure; his soul, refreshed, bids him remain where
a charm of melody and poesy surrounds him with harmony and awakens
ideas within his mind. Such a scene represents both life and a
monastery.

A few days earlier the beautiful Madame Firmiani, one of the charming
women of the faubourg Saint-Germain who visited and liked Madame
Rabourdin, had said to des Lupeaulx (invited expressly to hear this
remark), "Why do you not call on Madame ----?" with a motion towards
Celestine; "she gives delightful parties, and her dinners, above all,
are--better than mine."

Des Lupeaulx allowed himself to be drawn into an engagement by the
handsome Madame Rabourdin, who, for the first time, turned her eyes on
him as she spoke. He had, accordingly, gone to the rue Duphot, and
that tells the tale. Woman has but one trick, cries Figaro, but that's
infallible. After dining once at the house of this unimportant
official, des Lupeaulx made up his mind to dine there often. Thanks to
the perfectly proper and becoming advances of the beautiful woman,
whom her rival, Madame Colleville, called the Celimene of the rue
Duphot, he had dined there every Friday for the last month, and
returned of his own accord for a cup of tea on Wednesdays.

Within a few days Madame Rabourdin, having watched him narrowly and
knowingly, believed she had found on the secretarial plank a spot
where she might safely set her foot. She was no longer doubtful of
success. Her inward joy can be realized only in the families of
government officials where for three or four years prosperity has been