and a
happy event made us part company.

Now, so complicated are our treaties--offensive and defensive--that I
have to refer to my note-book, where I am likely to meet any one of
them, to see whether I am on speaking terms with the coming man or
woman as the case may be.

I shall first introduce the Cockaynes as holding the greater "lengths"
on my stage.

CHAPTER IV.

THE COCKAYNES IN PARIS.

The morning after a bevy of "the blonde daughters of Albion" have
arrived in Paris, Pater--over the coffee (why is it impossible to get
such coffee in England?), the delicious bread, and the exquisite
butter--proceeds to expound his views of the manner in which the time of
the party should be spent. So was it with the Cockaynes, an intensely
British party.

"My dears," said Mr. Cockayne, "we must husband our time. To-day I
propose we go, at eleven o'clock, to see the parade of the Guard in the
Rue de Rivoli; from there (we shall be close at hand) we can see the
Louvre; by two o'clock we will lunch in the Palais Royal. I think it's
at five the band plays in the Tuileries gardens; after the band----"

"But, dear papa, we want to look at the shops!" interposes the gentle
Sophonisba.

"The what, my dear? Here you are in the capital of the most polished
nation on the face of the earth, surrounded by beautiful monuments that
recall--that are, in fact----"

"Well!" firmly observes Sophonisba's determined mamma; "you, Mr.
Cockayne, go, with your Murray's handbook, see all the antiquities, your
Raphaels and Rubens, and amuse yourself among the cobwebs of the Hotel
Cluny; _we_ are not so clever--we poor women; and while you're rubbing
your nose against the marbles in the Louvre, we'll go and see the
shops."

"We don't mind the parade and the band, but we might have a peep at just
a few of the shops near the hotel, before eleven," observes Sophonisba.

Cockayne throws up his eyes, and laments the frivolity of women. He is
left with one daughter (who is a blue) to admire the proportions of the
Madeleine, to pass a rapturous hour in the square room of the Louvre,
and to examine St. Germain l'Auxerrois, while the frivolous part of his
household goes stoutly away, light-hearted and gay as humming-birds, to
have their first look at the shops.

[Illustration: A GROUP OF MARBLE "INSULAIRES." _So cold and natural they
might be mistaken for life_.]

I happen to have seen the shops of many cities. I have peered into the
quain