aircase hidden under the foliage.

I sit down at a small table: a waiter comes immediately to enquire my
wishes. I ask for some chocolate made with water; he brings me some, but
very bad, although served in a splendid silver-gilt cup. I tell him to
give me some coffee, if it is good.

"Excellent, I made it myself yesterday."

"Yesterday! I do not want it."

"The milk is very good."

"Milk! I never drink any. Make me a cup of fresh coffee without milk."

"Without milk! Well, sir, we never make coffee but in the afternoon.
Would you like a good bavaroise, or a decanter of orgeat?"

"Yes, give me the orgeat."

I find that beverage delicious, and make up my mind to have it daily for
my breakfast. I enquire from the waiter whether there is any news; he
answers that the dauphine has been delivered of a prince. An abbe, seated
at a table close by, says to him,--

"You are mad, she has given birth to a princess."

A third man comes forward and exclaims,--

"I have just returned from Versailles, and the dauphine has not been
delivered either of a prince or of a princess."

Then, turning towards me, he says that I look like a foreigner, and when
I say that I am an Italian he begins to speak to me of the court, of the
city, of the theatres, and at last he offers to accompany me everywhere.
I thank him and take my leave. The abbe rises at the same time, walks
with me, and tells me the names of all the women we meet in the garden.

A young man comes up to him, they embrace one another, and the abbe
presents him to me as a learned Italian scholar. I address him in
Italian, and he answers very wittily, but his way of speaking makes me
smile, and I tell him why. He expressed himself exactly in the style of
Boccacio. My remark pleases him, but I soon prove to him that it is not
the right way to speak, however perfect may have been the language of
that ancient writer. In less than a quarter of an hour we are excellent
friends, for we find that our tastes are the same.

My new friend was a poet as I was; he was an admirer of Italian
literature, while I admired the French.

We exchanged addresses, and promise to see one another very often.

I see a crowd in one corner of the garden, everybody standing still and
looking up. I enquire from my friend whether there is anything wonderful
going on.

"These persons are watching the meridian; everyone holds his watch in his
hand in order to regulate it exactly at noon."

"Is