CHAPTER XI.

Lud! what a group the motley scene discloses,
False wits, false wives, false virgins, and false spouses.
--Goldsmith's Epilogue to the Comedy of the Sisters.

Madame D'Anville kept her promise--the invitation was duly sent, and
accordingly at half past ten to the Rue D'Anjou I drove.

The rooms were already full. Lord Bennington was standing by the door,
and close by him, looking exceedingly distrait, was my old friend Lord
Vincent. They both came towards me at the same moment. "Strive not,"
thought I, looking at the stately demeanour of the one, and the humourous
expression of countenance in the other--"strive not, Tragedy nor Comedy,
to engross a Garrick." I spoke first to Lord Bennington, for I knew he
would be the sooner dispatched, and then for the next quarter of an hour
found myself overflowed with all the witticisms poor Lord Vincent had for
days been obliged to retain. I made an engagement to dine with him at
Very's the next day, and then glided off towards Madame D'Anville.

She was surrounded with men, and talking to each with that vivacity
which, in a Frenchwoman, is so graceful, and in an Englishwoman would be
so vulgar. Though her eyes were not directed towards me, she saw me
approach by that instinctive perception which all coquets possess, and
suddenly altering her seat, made way for me beside her. I did not lose so
favourable an opportunity of gaining her good graces, and losing those of
all the male animals around her. I sunk down on the vacant chair, and
contrived, with the most unabashed effrontery, and yet with the most
consummate dexterity, to make every thing that I said pleasing to her,