“Ganymede, mon beau garcon,” said she, one evening at an unusually thin assembly, “we must really give it up at last.  Matters are growing worse and worse, and in another week we shall positively not have enough to get up a tolerable gallopade.  Look at these seven poor Muses sitting together on the sofa.  Not a soul has spoken to them to-night, except that horrid Silenus, who dances nothing but Scotch reels.”

“Pardieu!” replied the young Trojan, fixing his glass in his eye.  “There may be a reason for that.  The girls are decidedly passees, and most inveterate blues.  But there’s dear little Hebe, who never wants partners, though that clumsy Hercules insists upon his conjugal rights, and keeps moving after her like an enormous shadow.  ’Pon my soul, I’ve a great mind—­Do you think, ma belle tante, that anything might be done in that quarter?”

“Oh fie, Ganymede—­fie for shame!” said Flora, who was sitting close to the Queen of Love, and overheard the conversation.  “You horrid, naughty man, how can you talk so?”

“Pardon, ma chere!” replied the exquisite with a languid smile.  “You must excuse my badinage; and indeed, a glance of your fair eyes were enough at any time to recall me to my senses.  By the way, what a beautiful bouquet you have there. Parole d’honneur, I am quite jealous.  May I ask who sent it?”

“What a goose you are!” said Flora, in evident confusion:  “how should I know?  Some general admirer like yourself, I suppose.”

“Apollo is remarkably fond of hyacinths, I believe,” said Ganymede, looking significantly at Venus.  “Ah, well!  I see how it is.  We poor detrimentals must break our hearts in silence.  It is clear we have no chance with the preux chevalier of heaven.”

“Really, Ganymede, you are very severe this evening,” said Venus with a smile; “but tell me, have you heard anything of Diana?”

“Ah! la belle Diane?  They say she is living in the country somewhere about Caria, at a place they call Latmos Cottage, cultivating her faded roses—­what a color Hebe has!—­and studying the sentimental.”

“Tant pis!  She is a great loss to us,” said Venus.  “Apropos, you will be at Neptune’s fete champetre to-morrow, n’est ce pas? We shall then finally determine about abandoning the assemblies.  But I must go home now.  The carriage has been waiting this hour, and my doves may catch cold.  I suppose that boy Cupid will not be home till all hours of the morning.”

“Why, I believe the Rainbow Club does meet to-night, after the dancing,” said Ganymede significantly.  “This is the last oyster-night of the season.”

“Gracious goodness!  The boy will be quite tipsy,” said Venus.  “Do, dear Ganymede! try to keep him sober.  But now, give me your arm to the cloak-room.”

“Volontiers!” said the exquisite.

As Venus rose to go, there was a rush of persons to the further end of the room, and the music ceased.  Presently, two or three voices were heard calling for Aesculapius.