“The little woman who rushed so vigorously to the assistance of M. Moutonnet, is the wife of a tall gentleman of the name of Bernard, who is a toyman in the Rue St Denis.  M. Bernard plays the amiable and the fool at the same time.  He laughs and quizzes, makes jokes, and even puns; he is the wit of the party.  His wife has been rather good-looking, and wishes to be so still.  She squeezes in her waist till she can hardly breathe, and takes an hour to fit her shoes on—­for she is determined to have a small foot.  Her face is a little too red; but her eyes are very lively, and she is constantly trying to give them as mischievous an expression as she can.  Madame Bernard has a great girl of fifteen, whom she dresses as if she were five, and treats occasionally to a new doll, by way of keeping her a child.  By the side of Madame Bernard is seated a young man of eighteen, who is almost as timid as Eugenie, and blushes when he is spoken to, though he has stood behind a counter for six months.  He is the son of a friend of M. Bernard, and his wife has undertaken to patronize him, and introduce him to good society.

“A person of about forty years of age, with one of those silly countenances which there is no mistaking at the first glance, is seated beside Eugenie.  M. Dupont—­such is his name—­is a rich grocer of the Rue aux Ours.  He wears powder and a queue, because he fancies they are becoming, and his hairdresser has told him that they are very aristocratic.  His coat of sky-blue, and his jonquil-coloured waistcoat, give him still more the appearance of a simpleton, and agree admirably with the astonished expression of his gooseberry eyes.  He dangles two watch-chains, that hang down his nankeen trowsers, with great satisfaction, and seems struck with admiration at the wisdom of his own remarks.  He thinks himself captivating and full of wit.  He has the presumption of ignorance, propped up by money.  Finally, he is a bachelor, which gives him great consideration in all the families where there are marriageable daughters.  M. and Madame Gerard, perfumers in the Rue St Martin, are also of the party.  The perfumer enacts the gallant gay Lothario, and in his own district has the reputation of a prodigious rake, though he is ugly, and ill-made, and squints.  But he fancies he overcomes all these drawbacks by covering himself with odours and perfumes—­accordingly, you smell him half an hour before he comes in sight.  His wife is young and pretty.  She married him at fifteen, and has a boy of nine, who looks more like her brother than her son.  The little Gerard hollos and jumps about, breaks the glasses and bottles, and makes as much noise as all the rest of the company put together.  ’He’s a little lion,’ exclaims M. Gerard; ’he’s exactly what I was.  You never could hear yourselves speak wherever I was, at his age.  People were delighted with me.  My son is my perfect image.’