the aspirant for the hand of my niece.

Madame Isola-Bella and her shadow, M. Grimaldi, came late, like great
people. Just as we were going to sit down, Clairmont told me that a man
wanted to speak to me.

"Shew him in."

As soon as he appeared M. Grimaldi exclaimed:

"The man with the bag!"

"What do you want?" I said, dryly.

"Sir, I am come to ask you to help me. I am a family man, and it is
thought that . . ."

I did not let him finish.

"I have never refused to aid the unfortunate," said I. "Clairmont, give
him ten sequins. Leave the room."

This incident spoke in my favour, and made me in a better temper.

We sat down to table, and a letter was handed to me. I recognized
Possano's writing, and put it in my pocket without reading it.

The dinner was delicious, and my cook was pronounced to have won his
spurs. Though her exalted rank and the brilliance of her attire gave
Signora Isoia-Bella the first place of right, she was nevertheless