“After you, Messieurs,” said the little old gentleman, skipping politely back, and flourishing his hand in the direction of the stairs.  “After you!”

We protested vehemently against this arrangement, and fought quite a skirmish of civilities at the foot of the stairs.

“I am at home here, Messieurs,” said the little old gentleman, who, now that he was divested of hat, cloak, and goloshes, appeared in a flaxen toupet, an antiquated blue coat with brass buttons, a profusely frilled shirt, and low-cut shoes with silver buckles.  “I am an old friend of the family—­a friend of fifty years.  I hold myself privileged to do the honors, Messieurs;—­a friend of fifty years may claim to have his privileges.”

With this he smirked, bowed, and backed against the wall, so that we were obliged to precede him.  When we reached the landing, however, he (being evidently an old gentleman of uncommon politeness and agility) sprang forward, held open the door for us, and insisted on ushering us in.

It was a narrow, long-shaped room, the size of the shop, with two windows looking upon the street; a tiny square of carpet in the middle of the floor; boards highly waxed and polished; a tea-table squeezed up in one corner; a somewhat ancient-looking, spindle-legged cottage piano behind the door; a mirror and an ornamental clock over the mantelpiece; and a few French lithographs, colored in imitation of crayon drawings, hanging against the walls.

Madame Marotte, very deaf and fussy, in a cap with white ribbons, came forward to receive us.  Mademoiselle Marie, sitting between two other young women of her own age, hung her head, and took no notice of our arrival.

The rest of the party consisted of a gentleman and two old ladies.  The gentleman (a plump, black-whiskered elderly Cupid, with a vast expanse of shirt-front like an immense white ace of hearts, and a rose in his button-hole) was standing on the hearth-rug in a graceful attitude, with one hand resting on his hip, and the other under his coat-tails.  Of the two old ladies, who seemed as if expressly created by nature to serve as foils to one another, one was very fat and rosy, in a red silk gown and a kind of black velvet hat trimmed with white marabout feathers and Roman pearls; while the other was tall, gaunt, and pale, with a long nose, a long upper lip, and supernaturally long yellow teeth.  She wore a black gown, black cotton gloves, and a black velvet band across her forehead, fastened in the centre with a black and gold clasp containing a ghastly representation of a human eye, apparently purblind—­which gave this lady the air of a serious Cyclops.

Madame Marotte was profuse of thanks, welcomes, apologies, and curtseys.  It was so good of these gentlemen to come so far—­and in such unpleasant weather, too!  But would not these Messieurs give themselves the trouble to be seated?  And would they prefer tea or coffee—­for both were on the table?  And where was Marie?  Marie, whose fete-day it was, and who should have come forward to welcome these gentlemen, and thank them for the honor of their company!