At three o’clock, when all the beauty and fashion of Paris was promenading on Paix aux Panoramas street, I was stopped on the corner and button-holed by one of those gossiping friends whom fiendish chance always sends at the most trying moments in life in order to disgust us with friendship ...  A dazzling form passed before me ...  Irene alone possesses that graceful ease, that fairy-like step, that queenly dignity—­I could recognise her among a thousand—­it was useless for her to attempt disguising her exquisite elegance beneath a peasant dress—–­ besides I caught her eye, so all doubts were swept away; several precious minutes were lost in trying to shake off my vexatious friend.  I abruptly bade him good-day and darted after Irene, but she has the foot of a gazelle, and the crowd was so compact that in spite of my elbowing and foot-crushing, I made but little headway.

Finally, through an opening in the crowd, I saw Mlle., de Chateaudun turn the corner and enter that narrow street near the Cafe Vernon.  This time she cannot possibly escape me—­she is in a long, narrow street, with deserted galleries on either side—­circumstances are propitious to a meeting and explanation—­in a minute I am in the narrow street a few yards behind Irene.  I prepare my mind for this momentous conversation which is to decide my fate.  I firmly clasp my arms to still the violent throbbings of my heart.  I am about to be translated to heaven or engulfed by hell.

She rapidly glanced at a Chinese store in front of her and, without showing any agitation, quietly opened the door and went in.  Very good, thought I, she will purchase some trifle and be out in a few minutes.  I will wait for her.

Five feet from the store I assumed the attitude of the god Terminus; by the way, this store is very handsomely ornamented, and far surpasses in its elegant collection of Chinese curiosities the largest store of the sort in Hog Lane in the European quarter of Canton.

Another of those kind friends whom chance holds in reserve for our annoyance, came out of a bank adjoining the store, and inferring from my statue-like attitude that I was dying of ennui and would welcome any diversion, rushed up to me and said: 

“Ah! my dear cosmopolitan, how are you to-day?  Don’t you want to accompany me to Brussels?  I have just bought gold for the journey; gold is very high, fifteen per cent.”

I answered by one of those listless smiles and unintelligible monosyllables which signifies in every language under the sun, don’t bore me.

In the meantime I remained immovable, with my eyes fastened on the Chinese store.  I could have detected the flight of an atom.

My friend struck the attitude of the Colossus of Rhodes, and supporting his chin upon the gold head of his cane which he held in the air clenched by both hands, thus continued:  “I did a very foolish thing this morning.  I bought my wife a horse, a Devonshire horse, from the Cremieux stables....  That reminds me, my dear Roger, you are the very man to decide a knotty question for me.  I bet D’Allinville thirty louis that ... what would you call a lady’s horse?”