Errors,'--the Great World. She was still living at Paris: what
Frenchwoman would, if she could help it, live anywhere else? "There are
a hundred gates," said the witty Madame de Choisi to me, "which lead
into Paris, but only two roads out of it,--the convent, or (odious
word!) the grave."

I hastened to Madame Balzac's hotel. I was ushered through three
magnificent apartments into one which to my eyes seemed to contain a
throne: upon a nearer inspection I discovered it was a bed. Upon a
large chair, by a very bad fire--it was in the month of March--sat a
tall, handsome woman, excessively painted, and dressed in a manner which
to my taste, accustomed to English finery, seemed singularly plain. I
had sent in the morning to request permission to wait on her, so that
she was prepared for my visit. She rose, offered me her cheek, kissed
mine, shed several tears, and in short testified a great deal of
kindness towards me. Old ladies who have flirted with our fathers
always seem to claim a sort of property in the sons!

Before she resumed her seat she held me out at arm's length.

"You have a family likeness to your brave father," said she, with a
little disappointment; "but--"

"Madame de Balzac would add," interrupted I, filling up the sentence
which I saw her /bienveillance/ had made her break off, "Madame de
Balzac would add that I am not so good-looking. It is true: the
likeness is transmitted to me within rather than without; and if I have
not my father's privilege to be admired, I have at least his capacities
to admire," and I bowed.