the state-rooms of Devonshire House.

We reached Calais in safety, and in good time, the next day.

"Will Monsieur dine in his rooms, or at the table d'hote?"

"In his rooms, of course," said Bedos, indignantly deciding the question.
A French valet's dignity is always involved in his master's.

"You are too good, Bedos," said I, "I shall dine at the table d'hote--who
have you there in general?"

"Really," said the garcon, "we have such a swift succession of guests,
that we seldom see the same faces two days running. We have as many
changes as an English administration."

"You are facetious," said I.

"No," returned the garcon, who was a philosopher as well as a wit; "no,
my digestive organs are very weak, and par consequence, I am naturally
melancholy--Ah, ma fois tres triste!" and with these words the
sentimental plate-changer placed his hand--I can scarcely say, whether on
his heart, or his stomach, and sighed bitterly!

"How long," said I, "does it want to dinner?" My question restored the
garcon to himself.

"Two, hours, Monsieur, two hours," and twirling his serviette with an air
of exceeding importance, off went my melancholy acquaintance to
compliment new customers, and complain of his digestion.