icks up a reticule, which the thief in his fright has
dropped, discovers in it the address he wants, and actually ventures to
call on Madame Caroline Derville, who possesses, in addition to viduity,
all the other attractions catalogued above.

Another scene of farce, which is not so far short of comedy, follows
between the lout and the lady, the fun being, among other things, caused
by Jean's unconventional strolling about the room, looking at
engravings, etc., and showing, by his remarks on things--"The Death of
Tasso," "The Marriage of Peleus and Thetis," and the like--that he is
utterly uneducated.

There is about half the book to come, but no more abstract can be
necessary. The way in which Jean is delivered from his Adelaide and
rewarded with his Caroline, if not quite probable (for Adelaide is made
to blacken her own character to her rival), is not without ingenuity.
And the narrative (which has Paul de Kock's curious "holding" quality
for the hour or two one is likely to bestow on it) is diversified by the
usual duel, by Jean's noble and rather rash conduct, in putting down his
pistols to bestow sacks of five-franc pieces on his two old friends (who
try to burgle and--one of them at least--would rather like to murder
him), etc., etc.[50] But the real value--for it has some--of the book
lies in the vivid sketches of ordinary life which it gives. The curious
Cockneydom, diversified by glimpses of a suburban Arcadia, in which the
French _bourgeois_ of the first half of the nineteenth century seems to
have passed his time; the humours of a _coucou_ journey from Paris to
Saint-Germain; all sorts of details of the Durand and Chopard
households--supply these. And not the least of them is given by the
bachelor menage of Bellequeue with his eighteen-year-old _bonne_ Rose,
the story whereof need not sadden or shock even Mrs. Grundy, unless she
scents unrecounted, indeed not even hinted at, improprieties.
Bellequeue, as noted above, is by no means a fool, and achieves as near
an approach to a successful "character" as Paul de Kock has ever drawn;
while Rose plays the same part of piebald angel as Lucile in _Andre_,
with a little more cleverness in her espieglerie and at least no
vouched-for unlawfulnesses.

[Sidenote: _La Femme, le Mari et l'Amant._]

But perhaps if any one wants a single book to judge Paul de Kock by
(with one possible exception, to follow this), he cannot do better than
take _La Femme, le Mari et l'Am