swords here, if you please," said Mr. Love, putting his vast hands
on the Pole's shoulder, and sinking him forcibly down into the circle
now formed.

The game proceeded with great vigour and much laughter from Rosalie, Mr.
Love, and Madame Beavor, especially whenever the last thumped the Pole
with the heel of the slipper. Monsieur Giraud was always sure that
Madame Giraud had the slipper about her, which persuasion on his part
gave rise to many little endearments, which are always so innocent among
married people. The Vicomte and the epicier were equally certain the
slipper was with Mademoiselle Adele, who defended herself with much
more energy than might have been supposed in one so gentle. The epicier,
however, grew jealous of the attentions of his noble rival, and told
him that he gene'd mademoiselle; whereupon the Vicomte called him an
impertinent; and the tall Frenchman, with the riband, sprang up and
said:

"Can I be of any assistance, gentlemen?"

Therewith Mr. Love, the great peacemaker, interposed, and reconciling
the rivals, proposed to change the game to Colin Maillard-Anglice,
"Blind Man's Buff." Rosalie clapped her hands, and offered herself to be
blindfolded. The tables and chairs were cleared away; and Madame Beaver
pushed the Pole into Rosalie's arms, who, having felt him about the face
for some moments, guessed him to be the tall Frenchman. During this time
Monsieur and Madame Giraud hid themselves behind the window-curtain.

"Amuse yourself, men ami," said Madame Beaver, to the liberated Pole.

"Ah, madame," sighed Monsieur Sovolofski, "how can I be gay! All
my property confiscated by the Emperor of Russia! Has La Pologne no
Brutus?"

"I think you are in love," said the host, clapping him on the back.

"Are you quite sure," whispered the Pole to the matchmaker, "that Madame
Beavor has vingt mille livres de rentes?"

"Not a sous less."

The Pole mused, and, glancing at Madame Beavor, said, "And yet, madame,
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