perhaps in fifteen years, a seat in the Academy. It is agreed! Get
ready for next week."

Attention! Amedee Violette is about to make his first appearance in
society.

Although his concierge, who aided him to finish his toilette and saw him
put on his white cravat, had just said to him, "What a love of a husband
you would make!" the poet's heart beat rapidly when the carriage in
which he was seated beside Arthur Papillon stopped before the steps of an
old house in the Rue de Bellechasse, where Madame la Comtesse Fontaine
lived.

In the vestibule he tried to imitate the advocate's bearing, which was
full of authority; but quickly despaired of knowing how to swell out his
starched shirt-front under the severe looks of four tall lackeys in silk
stockings. Amedee was as much embarrassed as if he were presented naked
before an examining board. But they doubtless found him "good for
service," for the door opened into a brightly lighted drawing-room into
which he followed Arthur Papillon, like a frail sloop towed in by an
imposing three-master, and behold the timid Amedee presented in due form
to the mistress of the house! She was a lady of elephantine proportions,
in her sixtieth year, and wore a white camellia stuck in her rosewood-
colored hair. Her face and arms were plastered with enough flour to make
a plate of fritters; but for all that, she had a grand air and superb
eyes, whose commanding glance was softened by so kindly a smile that
Amedee was a trifle reassured.

She had much applauded M. Violette's beautiful verse, she said, that
Jocquelet had recited at her house on the last Thursday of her season;