your charming gaiety consoles me amidst all my suffering;" upon which
Madame Beavor called him "flatterer," and rapped his knuckles with her
fan; the latter proceeding the brave Pole did not seem to like, for he
immediately buried his hands in his trousers' pockets.

The game was now at its meridian. Rosalie was uncommonly active, and
flew about here and there, much to the harassment of the Pole, who
repeatedly wiped his forehead, and observed that it was warm work, and
put him in mind of the last sad battle for _La Pologne_. Monsieur
Goupille, who had lately taken lessons in dancing, and was vain of his
agility--mounted the chairs and tables, as Rosalie approached--with
great grace and gravity. It so happened that, in these saltations, he
ascended a stool near the curtain behind which Monsieur and Madame Giraud
were ensconced. Somewhat agitated by a slight flutter behind the folds,
which made him fancy, on the sudden panic, that Rosalie was creeping that
way, the _epicier_ made an abrupt pirouette, and the hook on which the
curtains were suspended caught his left coat-tail,

"The fatal vesture left the unguarded side;"

just as he turned to extricate the garment from that dilemma, Rosalie
sprang upon him, and naturally lifting her hands to that height where she
fancied the human face divine, took another extremity of Monsieur
Goupille's graceful frame thus exposed, by surprise.

"I don't know who this is. _Quelle drole de visage_!" muttered Rosalie.

"_Mais_, madame," faltered Monsieur Goupille, looking greatly
disconcerted.