I was engaged that day to a literary dinner at the Marquis D'Al--; and as
I knew I should meet Vincent, I felt some pleasure in repairing to my
entertainer's hotel. They were just going to dinner as I entered. A good
many English were of the party. The good natured (in all senses of the
word) Lady--, who always affected to pet me, cried aloud, "Pelham, mon
joli petit mignon, I have not seen you for an age--do give me your arm."

Madame D'Anville was just before me, and, as I looked at her, I saw that
her eyes were full of tears; my heart smote me for my late inattention,
and going up to her, I only nodded to Lady--, and said, in reply to her
invitation, "Non, perfide, it is my turn to be cruel now. Remember your
flirtation with Mr. Howard de Howard."

"Pooh!" said Lady--, taking Lord Vincent's arm, "your jealousy does
indeed rest upon 'a trifle light as air.'"

"Do you forgive me?" whispered I to Madame D'Anville, as I handed her to
the salle a manger. "Does not love forgive every thing?" was her answer.

"At least," thought I, "it never talks in those pretty phrases."

The conversation soon turned upon books. As for me, I never at that time
took a share in those discussions; indeed, I have long laid it down as a
rule, that a man never gains by talking to more than one person at a
time. If you don't shine, you are a fool--if you do, you are a bore. You
must become either ridiculous or unpopular--either hurt your own self-
love by stupidity, or that of others by wit. I therefore sat in silence,
looking exceedingly edified, and now and then muttering "good!" "true!"
Thank heaven, however, the suspension of one faculty only increases the