“M.  Moutonnet, as you may perhaps already have perceived, is not commander-in-chief at hone.  His wife directs, rules, and governs all things.  When she is in good-humour—­a somewhat extraordinary occurrence—­she allows her husband to go and take his little cup of coffee, provided he goes for that purpose to the coffee-house at the corner of the Rue Mauconseil—­for it is famous for its liberal allowance of sugar, and M. Moutonnet always brings home three lumps of it to his wife.  On Sundays they dine a little earlier, to have time for a promenade to the Tuileries or the Jardin Turk.  Excursions into the country are very rare, and only on extraordinary occasions, such as the fete-day of M. and Madame Moutonnet.  That regular life does not hinder the stout lace-merchant from being the happiest of men—­so true is it that what is one man’s poison is another man’s meat.  M. Moutonnet was born with simple tastes—­she required to be led and managed like a child.  Don’t shrug your shoulders at this avowal, ye spirited gentlemen, so proud of your rights, so puffed up with your merits.  You! who think yourselves always masters of your actions, you yield to your passions every day! they lead you, and sometimes lead you very ill.  Well, M. Moutonnet has no fear of that—­he has no passions—­he knows nothing but his trade, and obedience to his spouse.  He finds that a man can be very happy, though he does not know how to carve a turkey, and lets himself be governed by his wife.  Madame Moutonnet is long past forty, but it is a settled affair that she is never to be more than thirty-six.  She never was handsome, but she is large and tall, and her husband is persuaded she is superb.  She is not a coquette, but she thinks herself superior to every body else in talents and beauty.  She never cared a rush about her husband, but if he was untrue to her she would tear his eyes out.  Madame Moutonnet, you perceive, is excessively jealous of her rights.  A daughter is the sole issue of the marriage of M. Eustache Moutonnet and Mademoiselle Barbe Desormeaux.  She is now eighteen years old, and at eighteen the young ladies in Paris are generally pretty far advanced.  But Eugenie has been educated severely—­and although possessed of a good deal of spirit, is timid, docile, submissive, and never ventures on a single observation in presence of her parents.  She has cleverness, grace, and sensibility, but she is ignorant of the advantages she has received from nature—­her sentiments are as yet concentrated at the bottom of her heart.  She is not coquettish—­or rather she scarcely ventures to give way to the inclination so natural to women, which leads them to please and to be pretty.  But Eugenie has no need of those little arts, so indispensable to others, or to have recourse to her mirror every hour.  She is well made, and she is beautiful; her eyes are soft and expressive, her voice is tender and agreeable, her brow is shadowed by dark locks of hair, her mouth furnished with fine white teeth.  In short, she has that nameless something about her, which charms at first sight, which is not always possessed by greater beauties and more regular features.  We now know all the Moutonnet family; and since we have gone so far, let us make acquaintance with the rest of the party who have come to the wood of Romainville to celebrate the Saint Eustache.