The hotel was pretty full when Wilhelm arrived, but he made no attempt to mix with the company he met twice a day at the table d’hote.  His French had grown somewhat rusty for want of practice, and he did not trust himself to join in the exceedingly lively and general conversation till he had regained something of his old fluency in long daily talks with the landlord.  Beside which, he did not feel greatly drawn toward his fellowguests.  Their high-sounding and pompously-expressed platitudes bored him, their absurd views on politics, their parrot-like and yet self-satisfied remarks on literature and art filled him with compassion.  One guest in particular, who sat at the head of the table, and generally led the conversation in the loudest tones, succeeded in making him very impatient, in spite of the mildness with which Wilhelm usually judged his fellows.  He did business in sewing machines in Paris, but here gave himself out as an “ingenieur constructeur,” and belonged to that class of persons who cannot endure not to be the center of observation wherever they happen to be.  It has been said of a man of that stamp, that if he were at a wedding he would wish to be the bridegroom, and if at a funeral to be in the place of the corpse.  At the dinner table of the Hotel de France he reigned supreme.  His strong point lay in the perpetration of the most ghastly puns, which he would discharge first to the right and then to the left, and finally, with a roar of laughter, over the whole table.  In his outward appearance, too, he sought to create a sensation.  He was not dressed, he was costumed.  He wore long stockings, knickerbockers and a tight-fitting jacket, and when he stood up, tried to produce effects with his calves, spread his legs wide apart as if, like the Colossus of Rhodes, ships were to pass beneath, and affected sporting and athletic attitudes generally.  He was accompanied by a lady who had at first roused the horrified disgust of the others by her appetite, which surpassed every known human limit, and then proceeded to make herself still more hateful by a frequent change of costume.

Wilhelm’s immediate neighbor was a lady of somewhat exuberant outline, but extremely plainly dressed, and without a single ornament, of whom at first he took no more notice than of the rest of the company.  She returned his silent bow at coming and going, and acknowledged the little attentions of the dinner table—­the handing of salt or entrees, of bread or cider (the table beverage)—­with a low “Merci, monsieur,” accompanied by a pleasant smile and an inclination of the head.  The acquaintance began with a look.  It was after a more than usually exasperating pun from the man in the knickerbockers, and involuntarily their eyes met, after which they exchanged glances each time he came out with a particularly blatant piece of idiocy.  They could not long remain in doubt that their opinion on the prevailing conversation was identical, and the unanimity of their tastes was still further demonstrated by the fact that the lady was as silent during the meals as Wilhelm.