stood a handsome billiard-table, over which were two dirty lamps with
reflectors; the walls were papered in tawdry French taste, the ceiling
black with smoke, and the whole room but indifferently lighted with a
disproportionate and dusty window: the door, too, seemed planned for
security, having a large lock and two bolts inside, but exhibited marks
of recent repair from violent fracture. In short, there was a lurking
suspicion about the place, which was not lessened by my companion
meeting with a partner. From their conversation I learned they were both
_foreigners_, and were waiting for a friend to bring the orders to view
the palace, so that all the story was as yet in keeping, and I was
introduced as a suitor for the same favour. My fellows "in waiting"
showed much impatience, complained of cold, and politely asked me to
take a glass of liqueur with them, at the same time taking up the mace
and beginning to amuse themselves at the billiard-table. I looked on;
they asked me to join them; I declined, and professed ignorance of the
game; but their importunities became more pressing, and at last
troublesome. Not a word further was said of the palace admission.
I now judged it time to take my leave, and advancing towards the door
for that purpose, I perceived my companions moved also: I profited by
the hint, and seizing the handle of the door, thanked them for their
civility, assured them I could wait no longer, but would call in
half-an-hour--leaped down the stairs, and did not stop till I reached
_Rue Montmartre_. I afterwards learned this was a common _street trick_
in Paris to decoy strangers to the billiard-table, and had I taken the
mace in hand, it would most probably have been at the expense of a good
dinner for my companions, as a smart for my credulity.

A few evenings subsequent to this common-place incident, I strolled into
a house of play in the palais royal, the situation having been
previously pointed out to me by a friend.[1] The entrance was through a