A man about sixty years of age, with gray hair, a fresh, plump face, an honest, placid countenance, and wearing a mouse-colored silk dressing-gown, was seated before a small, round table.

The window opened to the floor, and I could see him in this frame like a full-length portrait.

There was a bowl of coffee upon the table, in which he dipped his roll as he read his journal.

I beg your pardon, ladies, for entering into these petty details, but the habit of writing--" "I assure you, Monsieur, your story interests me very much," said Madame de Bergenheim, kindly.
"A King Charles spaniel, like yours, Mademoiselle, was standing near the window with his paws resting upon it; he was gazing with curiosity at the revolution of July, while his master was reading his paper and sipping his coffee, as indifferent to all that passed as if he had been in Pekin or New York.
"'Oh, the calm of a pure, sincere soul!' I exclaimed to myself, at the sight of this little tableau worthy of Greuze; 'oh, patriarchal philosophy! in a few minutes perhaps blood will flow in the streets, and here sits a handsome old man quietly sipping his coffee.' He seemed like a lamb browsing upon a volcano." Marillac loved volcanoes, and never lost an opportunity to bring one in at every possible opportunity.
"Suddenly a commotion ran through the crowd; the people rushed in every direction, and in an instant the boulevard was empty.

Plumes waving from high caps, red-and-white flags floating from the ends of long lances, and the cavalcade that I saw approaching through the trees told me the cause of this panic.