as the fashions.

I devoted a whole day to my old friend Baletti, who had left the theatre
and married a pretty ballet-girl on the death of his father; he was
making experiments with a view to finding the philosopher's stone.

I was agreeably surprised at meeting the poet Poinsinet at the Comedic
Francaise. He embraced me again and again, and told me that M. du Tillot
had overwhelmed him with kindness at Parma.

"He would not get me anything to do," said Poinsinet, "because a French
poet is rather at a discount in Italy."

"Have you heard anything of Lord Lismore?"

"Yes, he wrote to his mother from Leghorn, telling her that he was going
to the Indies, and that if you had not been good enough to give him a
thousand Louis he would have been a prisoner at Rome."

"His fate interests me extremely, and I should be glad to call on his
lady-mother with you."

"I will tell her that you are in Paris, and I am sure that she will
invite you to supper, for she has the greatest desire to talk to you."

"How are you getting on here? Are you still content to serve Apollo?"

"He is not the god of wealth by any means. I have no money and no room,
and I shall be glad of a supper, if you will ask me. I will read you my
play, the 'Cercle', which has been accepted. I am sure it will be